


WORRY.

by sleeplessandcynical



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Additional tags in chapter summaries, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Awkward Flirting, Bad Dirty Talk, Biracial Character, Biting, Complicated trans sex, Dysphoria, Eventual Smut, Excellent hair everyone, Gen, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts, Mutual Masturbation, Outing, POV Multiple, Rimming, Safeword Use, Sensory Deprivation, Sobriety, These Idiots, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wrestling, not remotely timeline compliant, submissive!Kenny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessandcynical/pseuds/sleeplessandcynical
Summary: Will Hayashi is a Japanese-American trans man who goes to meet a semi-anonymous internet friend at a wrestling event. Said friend turns out to be anything but anonymous, and comes with reinforcements. These are their stories.The first three chapters are PG-13 and contain a lot of swear words. Other content notes are there on a chapter-by-chapter basis, so feel free to skip anything that's not your jam!)Also, over time this has evolved into a massive compilation of stuff, because I couldn't decide whether to split it up into a series or not (I still might, one day). After the first ten chapters, you get a little bit of everything -- short stories, different POVs, one-shots, etc. I've tried to keep it into the same approximate timeline, and hopefully it's not too incoherent :)





	1. happy anterrabae day!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a very normal day becomes very... not
> 
> [soundtrack - Bomb the Music Industry! - To Leave or Die in Long Island - "Happy Anterrabae Day!!!"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6UnkcB4Ya0)

_we're all here for the same stupid reasons_  
_we all like the stupid band_  
_so let's sing loud, proud and clear  
_ _in a language we both understand_

* * *

 

I spent my first twenty or so years of watching wrestling without ever attending a live event, mostly out of anxiety. Having grown up in the Deep South and mostly interacted with other fans on the internet, I was honestly never sure how a given group of strangers would react to the presence of a very short, very loud, very nervous, very mixed dude. But after being talked into my first Ring of Honor taping, hugged excitedly by my gloriously diverse seatmates for no other reason than that we were all happy to be there, and spending the whole train ride home having my ear talked off by the same, I was hooked, and found a second family in local and indie promotions.

In fulfilling my role as compulsive social matchmaker, I even started arranging meetups before and sometimes after at bars or diners near the venues, bringing together fellow wrestling nerds from various forms of social media to hang out, have some beers, make some friends, and excitedly dissect our favorite matchups. Tonight, in fact, was late-night pizza. When I sent out the blast, one of my favorite Twitter friends had asked if I wanted to meet up out front of the venue beforehand instead because he didn't think he had it in him to hang out in a group setting, and I’d immediately agreed; as the World’s Noisiest Introvert, I understood that feeling all too well.

I would not have called myself popular, or a fixture on the scene, or anything of that nature (Hey ma! Check out my 237 followers!), but fans in need of a friend knew they could reach out to me, and they often did. It wasn't at all unusual for even somebody I didn't know all that well to ask if I was going someplace and for me to offer my skills as wingman/escort/arm candy/social bodyguard - my reputation as equal parts goofball and overprotective Tasmanian devil was well-deserved and accurate, if you don’t mind my saying so. I guess for a lot of folks that would be overly trusting, but considering it's a public event we're all attending anyway, I didn't find it any weirder than my usual habit of making friends with strangers and it had never really burned me before - just a rare handful of awkward moments with people when it turned out we had zero IRL ability to carry on a conversation.

This guy, who I knew only as "KO," had added me almost a year prior. He didn't want to put his name or face out there, so I said, "Fair enough," and started referring to him as "my best friend, Kevin Owens," which always got me eyeroll emojis and some joke about how I should change my name to Will Jericho. Which, to be fair, has a pretty killer ring to it. (Besides, it's not _my_ fault that when you turn 30, you're immediately required by law to take every terrible joke opportunity that presents itself.)

KO was a very private guy, content to mostly post livetweets of events and the occasional gifset, along with a lot of stuff about video games and music. Really fucking good music, might I add, and his commentary was on-fucking-point. And despite his minimalist outward-facing internet persona, which was in direct contrast to my own boisterous, public, and filterless existence, he had popped into my DMs early on and we talked almost every day, even if it consisted only of “Have you heard this song??” I might not have known the guy’s name, but I knew he was sweet as pie, loved his family, and coped with bad days via cute animal pictures.

I was antsy that night, but it was, I told myself, the standard-issue bubbling-up of hype and adrenaline that comes any time I go to a match. Yes, I had a bit of a crush _oh you don't even know what he looks like, you nerd_ and was slightly more invested than usual in hoping things went well, but meeting KO seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do regardless of any particular hopes I might carry regarding the outcome. Between wrestling and my other hobby, live music, I've met dozens of friends from social media over the years under similar circumstances.

So there I was, fifteen minutes early as ever. I'm easy to find in a crowd, all big hair and big mouth and tattoos, so my tactic is usually to just show up and let that happen. Too damn short to be any good at spotting people anyway. The parking lot was relatively devoid of humans - the folks already here had mostly headed inside.

I had a black t-shirt and baggy grey jeans on underneath my absolute favorite vest, which I'd bought, inexplicably for a Buddhist, at a gun store. (It turns out "concealed carry" mostly means "has a lot of sweet pockets.") Black leather, covered in increasingly battered-looking badges, and sometime in my late twenties I'd spray-painted across the shoulders, bright neon framing my TTSR backpatch. Because fuck being subtle.

Hair hawked high with a fresh fade, mirror-shined oxblood Docs, clean sideburns, keys hooked on my back left belt loop because I'm a sucker for tradition. Real tough-guy shit, ya know. I liked to think I was channeling my inner Sanada, but that only goes so far when you're 5'4"  _with_ hair and your cheekbones are more "chipmunk" than "chiseled from granite." 

My phone went off with a buzz and I pulled it out.

KO: _Hey, I'm here early, so let me know when you're around?_

I grinned at my phone before replying. _I'm early too, as per my MO. Holler when you spot me_

Right when I put it back in my pocket and turned to survey the parking lot, I heard a side door behind me open. They were still loading the last bits in for the night, so I figured it was probably somebody on staff. Then I heard a voice call out, and turned around only to see a familiar-looking pile of two-toned curls headed in my general direction.

_Well, this can't be right._

He stopped several feet short of me and twisted his fingers together nervously. "Oh my god, Will, it's so good to finally meet you. I'm Kenny."

I tried to say something, anything, but for several long seconds all I could do was stare and stutter and turn increasingly red and hope the earth would swallow me fucking whole somehow. "This... You... This is some kind of joke, right? Who talked you into this, and what have I ever done that was so fucked-up in their eyes?"

He looked mortified, and then it all seemed to hit him at once. "Oh... Oh _shit_. You had no idea." He threw his hands up in a frustrated gesture. "You had no idea! Of course you didn't!"

I made fists inside my vest pockets. "What the hell is going on? This is clearly an elaborate fuckup and it's gone too far. I'm so sorry whoever talked you into this" - _my ex? One of my weirder friends? Who would do this to me?_ \- "made you waste your time. I mean, don't get me wrong, Omega, I'm a huge fan, and it's really wonderful to meet you, and suddenly now I know what the card meant by 'surprise special guest,' but this is super fucked-up and I am so uncomfortable right now and I'm just gonna go inside and I hope you have a great match -"

He took two soft steps forward, close enough that I could have reached out and touched him but not so close that he invaded my personal space or loomed. Calculated or not, I appreciated it. And then he stopped, tilting his head to look down at me. "Okay, I was going to say something dramatic but now all I can see is how tiny you are."

I couldn't hold back a smile. "It's not like you didn’t know!"

"Yeah, but even in pictures you look taller! You're like, laundry-detergent handsomeness, all concentrated." The only things more awkward than that simile were the helpless gestures that accompanied it, and I was smiling uncontrollably at all of them.

"Yeah, I hear that one a lot." I flexed dramatically and winked - humor is a defining personality quirk  _and_ a defense mechanism! He covered his face with his hands, I thought to conceal a laugh, but when he looked back up I realized he was blushing.

When he recovered, he continued, "Okay. Dramatic time: remember when I made you that mixtape that was nothing but video game music and you made me one in return that was nothing but Jeff Rosenstock projects? I listen to it literally almost every day when I need to get psyched up for something. Like, I dunno, meeting some badass from the internet."

He lifted his headphones with the practiced ease of somebody who might have gotten them caught in his hair a few too many times, and handed them to me.

I took them and put one close to my own ear. They were still warm, and blasting out of the speakers I heard layers of syncopated top-speed vocals, barely distinguishable as words until about the hundredth time through:

 _so if i kissed you on the nose_ _or offered you a hug_  
_how could you possibly still wanna fight?_  
_we'll drink some beers_ _or if you're straightedge, we'll drink cola  
_ _and we'll talk about_ _how much we both liked Scarface_

 _you'll back down because you're homophobic_  
_gold medals go to the pacifists_ _who won't fight you  
sorry dude, this _ _is passive resistance_

All the remaining tension evaporated when I heard it, and without quite realizing what I was doing, I sang the last few lines before bursting out in the biggest, most genuine laugh I'd heard from myself in a while.

"Well, you're definitely KO. Definitely _not_ Kevin Owens, though." Now I was laughing at myself for making the stupid joke in the first place, thinking about how many KOs there are in this universe and how glad I was I didn't accidentally pick the 'correct' one.

"Yeah, right country, wrong Canadian. So you believe me? Can I hug you now?" He laid on the puppy eyes, hard, and I laughed again.

"Of course. Come here." I beckoned to him, and he all but leapt into my arms, wrapping his around my shoulders. His hair brushed against my face, knocked forward by his momentum, and I tried to carefully shake it out of my eyes without accidentally headbutting him in the process. "I'm sorry I gave you shit. It just really freaked me out."

" _I'm_ sorry," he murmured into my hair. "It honestly never occurred to me that it's my private account and you would have no reason to know since I never post my face or anything. I don't do this a lot. Or ever? I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay." My voice was muffled by his chest, which was exactly as gorgeous in person as I would have imagined, and smelled amazing. _Get it together, ho_. _He's just a guy._ "I meet a lot of my friends online and since theoretically I was gonna be here either way, I honestly didn't think too much about it - a lot of people don't want to share names or even faces until we meet up in-person. Definitely didn't expect this, though, I'll be the first to admit it."

"The last thing I would want to do is upset you! I've really made a hell of an impression, huh?" He pulled back a little to look at me, and his gaze was worried and intense.

"Seriously, it's fine! Weird, but fine. I just...Wow, did not see that one coming."

"Weird? Really?" His eyes twinkled a little.

I stepped back and tried to compose myself, which for some reason involved brushing non-existent fluff off my vest. "Well, I mean, I would guess at least a solid 15% of my internet presence is just yelling in all caps about how adorable and badass you are, so yeah, it's a little weird. I'm kinda glad I didn't know, actually, because I would've had a massive panic attack and probably never said a word to you."

"Adorable and badass? I'm putting that one on my resume. And I'm glad you talked. Really glad. It's been so great getting to know you and I hope this doesn't fuck that up." Big eyes again, this time quite serious.

Wait. Was he _flirting_?

Now I was blushing and trying to defuse myself before I exploded. _Hurry up and make a fucking joke before you pass out._ "You're killing me. God, does this make me one of those 'ring rats' or whatever they're called? Because that shit is-"

"-misogynist as hell and makes me want to punch something?”

"Well ain't you a keeper," I drawled, and it was his turn to gain a bit of color in his cheeks.

His voice shook a little from what sounded like a cocktail of nerves and anger. "Also, for the record, completely not my intent. I mean, not that... Fuck. Let me try this again. I adore you, you know that, and you know that was true long before you walked up here. I would be the actual biggest asshole in the world if I blew that by trying to leverage our preexisting... thing just to fuck you and then run. I'm already just so glad you're in my life and you're _here_  and oh god I'm talking too much but I don't know how to stop."

Okay, he was definitely flirting. With _me_?

"Kenny. It's okay," I smiled, gently placing my fingertips on his chest. "The only thing stopping me from babbling myself to nervous death right now is the fact that you're already doing it. The Mom Friend Override."

He let out a deep breath, then nodded and smiled quietly to himself. "I had big plans to ask if you wanted to hang out backstage, but I have a feeling you don't want to miss the rest of the show."

"I hate to admit this, but you're totally right. I've been looking forward to most of this card ever since it was announced, rumors of you included. Besides, I'm sure you have a routine. You've got a game to get your head in, and I ain't here to fuck with it."

"Yeah, that too. Job to do and all. Do... you want to come back for a little bit, though? Meet the guys and stuff? I can get someone to take you to your seat from there."

After agreeing, and telling him to lead the way, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face as we crossed the remainder of the parking lot. My shoulder brushed against the top of his ribcage and at one point, I thought I felt his hand on the small of my back, but if so, it was gone in a matter of heartbeats.

Out of habit, I darted out first and held the back door for him, only to be nearly lifted off my feet once I got inside the corridor by two men made mostly of smiles and hair who couldn't stop talking over each other. Jesus. I came here expecting to meet up with one fellow wrestling nerd and now I was being group-hugged by the entire Elite. It was almost too surreal to process, which was probably a good thing because that kept me from panicking. That, and the mental image of the two Young Bucks listening at the outer door the whole time.

"You must be -"

"He's been freaking out about this all day -"

"I think he re-did his hair like six times -"

"This is so exciting!"

I couldn't tell which of the guys was saying what and I wasn't totally sure it mattered anyway, so I just grinned as we made our way to the locker room.

"Well, I _was_ going to make formal introductions, but you kinda beat me to the punch on that one, guys. Will's gonna hang out for a little bit before the show. Be nice; I want him to come back!" Kenny gently rubbed my shoulder for a moment before crossing the room to grab water for everyone. I fought back a shiver.

_Ugh. Don't get ahead of yourself now. That's Kenny fucking Omega. You're just some sneakerhead schlump. Besides, all these guys do is hang out in tight pants with each other all day, of course they're fuckin' handsy._

I know this is a cliché, but even at that age, it felt gloriously weird to hear a new person talk about me so casually. I never realize how tightly wound I am waiting to be forgotten, waiting for things to turn ugly.

Instead, Nick held me at arm's length, studying my face, while Matt affectionately rumpled my hair and pinched my cheek. "He wasn't lying, you are too damn cute!"

_Wait, he said **what**?_

"Y'all are gonna kill me, I swear!" I officially did not understand anything anymore.

Now that most of the shock had worn off, I found myself sitting next to Kenny on a bench and talking his ear off like... Well, like we'd been friends for months. He was showing me pictures of his neighborhood in Tokyo when suddenly a question popped up that I'd half been dreading since we met.

"So what generation are you? _Sansei_?"

" _Nisei_ , actually. Ish. My dad came over when he was ten, so he's a 0.5'er. Met my mom in college."

"Yeah? Where's he from?

"Seattle, but I already know that's not what you meant. Tōhoku. Morioka." Short and sweet. Half like me.

He nodded knowingly, and sensed my hesitance. "Do you not like to talk about it?"

"Not really. It's complicated, especially with the circumstances." I waved my hands in what I hoped was a non-committal gesture. He nodded again, but stayed silent, watching my face.

Finally, he draped his arm across my shoulder and said, "I hate to admit it, but the show's about to start. I hope this isn't too presumptuous, but I traded your seat up. Sean can take you over whenever you're ready." He waved to a guy in a Security shirt, who was enormous even by wrestling standards, and Sean grinned back at us.

I tried to hide the latest round of flush by countering, "It's presumptuous as _fuck_ , young man, but I'm not complaining as long as you didn't kick anyone else out for me to have it." Then, on impulse, I kissed him on the cheek with a dramatic  _smooch!_ and he blushed to the roots of his hair.

It turned out by "traded up," he meant "front and fucking center," and my heart was fluttering rabbit-like in my chest before I even sat down. A drop of sweat rolled down my neck over my collarbone, and I stripped my vest and hung it over the back of my chair.

The card for the evening really _was_ great - a perfect mix of big names and local talent, all of whom deserved their chance to shine - and the crowd practically buzzed with that nonstop energy that always means it's gonna be good night. I spotted my friends scattered across the room and we killed time between matches by making faces and chanting rude slogans, or just tweeting them at each other.

During intermission, I got cornered outside the bathrooms by my friend Polly and her husband, both demanding to know how I'd gotten what they called 'friends & family seats' to the sold-out venue. When I was uncharacteristically quiet and cartoonishly shifty-eyed, not wanting to shoot my mouth off without Kenny's consent, she announced with a fake-threatening tone that I damn well better reveal my source eventually or at least bring her next time. Her use of the phrase 'you'd better tell me about your hookup' only made it worse, and I wondered for the second time that day if it was possible to actually die of embarrassment. Question successfully dodged, she patted my arm and we went back to our seats.

Before I knew it, we were at the last match of the night. _Here it goes._ I felt my heart start to race as the music hit, the same way I did every time a wrestler I liked came out to the ring, but there was an added edge to it. I guess you could call it pride.

Thank god for the unspoken camaraderie of wrestling fans because the guy next to me, an older fellow in attendance with his twenty-something son, grabbed my shoulder and yelled, "Oh my god, they're here!"

I grabbed him back, so relieved to have an outlet for the fresh wave of nervous energy rolling through, completely unaware at first of what was coming out of my mouth. "That's my boy! That's my boy!"

_My boy. That's a phrase I haven't thought about another human in a long time._

The three of them made their way to the ring to a huge roar of surprise and joy, mingled with deep chants of "The Elite! The-The Elite!" The Bucks, still sweaty from their earlier title defense, circled around, Too-Sweeting everyone in sight. As Kenny got into the ring, crossed it, and set up for his signature pose, it suddenly rang clear: he'd be looking directly at me.

For some reason, that made me more self-conscious than any of the _other_ weird shit that had already happened that day, but it got even worse when he stared over and I saw the corners of his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit. I looked down and remembered with no small amount of awkwardness that today I'd decided to pull on a random black shirt, thinking I would wear my signature vest on top all day. But thanks to the heat in the arena, I'd slung the vest over the back of my chair, revealing the worn, soft, slightly faded tee printed with the cover of Carol Queen's  _The Leather Daddy and the Femme._

I looked back up in complicated horror only to discover that Kenny had somehow managed to keep a semi-straight face through this whole ordeal, and even gave me a sly wink before turning back to the ring.

The rest of the match passed in a blur, my heart pounding so hard I started to get lightheaded. At one point, he crashed into the barricade right in front of us, and mine was one of several hands that instinctively came down to pat him on the shoulders as he got back up. He turned around and squeezed my forearm, and I barely had time to squeeze back before he took off again.

"Oh my God, he _touched_ you!" my seatmate hollered enthusiastically, and I couldn't wipe the stupid smile off my face for all the money or threats in the world. He touched me indeed, and it was like the handful of times he'd touched me before all exploded to the forefront of my brain at the same time. I had to brace myself on the barricade to help me stay upright.

Just to make matters worse, the Bucks circled around again and Nick decided it was  _his_ turn for hair-rumpling. At least that got my brain moving again. On a total whim, I stole his bandana right off his head. In return he crotch-chopped at me, so I rolled my eyes and pulled out my favorite useless party trick - I shook out the bandana, quickly folded it like a fancy napkin into the shape of a rose, then offered it back. He took it with a deep bow and dramatic flourish, fanning himself with his other hand before running back to ringside, cackling. People were still gawking, so I took my sweet time methodically fixing my hair before I sat back down, not acknowledging anything except the fight in front of me.

The night was a chance to really think about Kenny knowing him the way I did now. I had always admired him as a wrestler, but suddenly I had a real reason to look at and think about him with fresh eyes. Yeah, he was the guy whose t-shirt occupied a solid third of the torsos in the venue. But he was also KO, the internet friend who made me mixtapes and took gorgeous landscape photos and sent me cute pictures of rabbits when I was having a bad day. Who just happened to _also_ be kind, thoughtful, affectionate, and, as it turned out, smoking hot. And maybe, possibly, even flirting with the likes of me.

In the ring, he was a lot of things - graceful, funny, aware, strong beyond measure. Outside the ring, I had now learned over the course of months, he was all of those and more. In both, he made my heart beat _way_ too fast and made me feel like a confused, joyous, flustered teenager. When he won the match, I wanted to vault the barricade and tackle him, but settled for white-knuckling it with one hand and thrusting my other fist in the air, hollering at top volume.

Afterwards, as people were trickling out, I saw Sean's big, kind face again, and feeling a bit like a small child, grabbed his shirtsleeve and let him lead me into the back. Once we hit the corridor, I texted the meetup group, letting them know I'd probably be a little late.

Even if I hadn't already been there, I could have easily identified the room by the ruckus coming from within. The Bucks were in fine form, Nick insisting that I had to teach him how to do 'the flower thing' that Matt was now wearing stuck to the side of his head somehow. I just winked. "What can I say? I need things to do with my hands. I can also make a mouse and maybe a swan, although it's been a while."

"No seriously, the pop from that was crazy. Next time, we should totally do it again!" Nick looked really pleased with himself and all I could think was -

" _Next_ time?"

The boys evaded that question when Kenny, with an exhausted smile across his soft face, hugged me close and then pulled away. "Shit. I'm all sweaty and disgusting. I'm sorry."

I blushed, and the foolishness that came out of my mouth made me wonder when I'd apparently found time to get balls-out drunk in the ten minutes between my seat and now. "I actually...I don't mind. You smell really good? Sweaty men are like my kryptonite. Oh god, that was so TMI."

He grinned. "You asked for it. But there's a lot of sweaty men back here right now, you've been warned." He pulled me back in, and the urge to just straight-up lick him was overwhelming. _Nope nope nope. I know it's been a while, but get ahold of yourself, nerd. Defuse that shit right fucking now._

I pulled away, and the front of my hair was slightly damp, as was my forehead and nose. No regrets. "You're saying I should or should notgo around sniffing these dorks?" I teased, gesturing to the Bucks.

"Actually, I would pay good money to watch Matt freak out when you did that," he muttered. A beat. "Not because you're a dude, not like that, but just the image of you trying to sneakily whiff his hair like a shampoo commercial is cracking me up."

"So I should start with Nick, then?" That was met with a cackle from most of the room.

I subconsciously straightened my posture and gestured to my pocket. "Question: Do you mind if I tell them? Not who you are out of us, but that I'm late because I met you? I totally understand if not, and no details, but I'm just so fucking excited. And I was getting a little bit of the Spanish Inquisition about how I got my seat."

"Of course. I was actually hoping you'd stay, but I also know you well enough to know you're not going to bail on your friends. C'mere." To my shock, he pulled me close, arm draped over my shoulders, and held up his phone, stooping to touch my forehead to his cheek. I usually hate other people's pictures of myself, but the happiness on my face was so goddamn radiant I half-expected it to be physically visible, like a saint's halo in a Renaissance painting. A few taps later, the picture popped up in my text messages, and I hit save. "You think that'll sell it?"

"If it doesn't, they can all kiss my ass. I'm only in it for the pizza."

He sat down on the locker room bench, and patted to the space next to him. "You got a couple of minutes?"

"For you? Always." It was out of my mouth and I was on my ass before I could talk myself out of it, and the other guys seemed to take it as a cue to suddenly busy themselves with putting their things together.

He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear, and something about that small gesture felt like my entire body was blushing. _Oh god. Hold still. Don't freak. Don't forget to breathe. And now you're way **too** still, all deer-in-headlights. _

_He's just a guy_ , I argued with myself. _Yeah, but he smells really good and holy fuck he's touching me, that is **definitely** his hand on my back, abort staying calm, **abort abort** -_

"You okay?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if his voice had gotten quieter or it just sounded that way because he was speaking from some distant planet where normal people lived.

I realized I was trembling from equal parts nerves and exhaustion. I scrubbed my face with both sweaty hands and did what I always do: told the awkward, painful truth. "I'm sorry, you're just very attractive and very close to me right now and I'm very wired and it kinda all hit me at once."

His mouth curved and I realized for the first time that we both smiled crooked in the same direction. "And that's a novelty for you, being close to people you find attractive? I find that hard to believe."

I silently begged myself to shut the fuck up and refrain from dumping all my trash in the street at the slightest provocation. _God, can you please just once in this **lifetime** not feel the need to beat everyone over the head with how much you suck? Even if somebody was weird enough to like you, you'd still manage to change their mind_.

It didn't work. At all.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly a lifelong bachelor, but the market for five-foot-something mutts with store-bought equipment, even ruggedly handsome ones like me, is pretty fuckin' niche. I'm a little rusty on whatever it is you're doing."

He paused, and tilted his head back without breaking eye contact. A slow smirk crept across his face. "What I'm _doing_ is telling you that I don't have another show for a week, and following _that_ up by asking if you'd like to have dinner with me tomorrow."

"Wait, what?" My voice picked that moment to crack like the pubescent fourteen-year-old I never was, but to Kenny's credit, he kept a straight face, eyes soft.

"A date, Will. It's called a _date_ , and sometimes when two boys, or girls, or several of either, or on  _very_ rare occasions a boy and a girl,  _like_ each other, they -"

I punched him in the arm. I should probably stop doing _that_ in this lifetime, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is absolute fucking vanity on my part, written from the depths of a very bad fit of dysphoria and also a lifetime of being ainoko* in America = having very complicated relationships with white people/gaijin as a result.
> 
> *I know this is a loaded term, but it's the one I heard as a kid and identify with most strongly for my own personal self because of its connotations rather than in spite of them.
> 
> There's, like... a whole thesis on all of this. It's not very interesting, but it's full of angst.
> 
> this piece has several chapters to it, but it's taken me a long time to be happy enough with it to publish, so updates may have some distance between them.


	2. yakisoba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will and kenny go on a date. will is awkward and skeptical. there's some dysphoria thoughts, fyi. 
> 
>    
> [ Soundtrack: Avoid One Thing - Avoid One Thing - "Yakisoba"](https://youtu.be/7gW5uanP2ao)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. I cannot thank y'all enough for your kindness on the first chapter of this. it made me genuinely emotional. I'm making gradual progress through cleaning up and sorting out the rest of this mess, and I deeply appreciate the encouragement. love love love.

way _to go_  
_you'll live by the ocean_  
_way to go_  
_you'll live there with me_  
_half an hour of pure devotion_  
_can really fuck with a man's sanity_

* * *

I got home several hours later, full of pizza and still buzzing. The night itself was worth the hype without even taking my personal life into consideration, so I think I did a half-decent job avoiding having to explain myself just yet. Which isn't normally my style, but I knew the man of the hour valued his privacy and I valued that boundary now perhaps even a little more than I had before I saw his face.

 _Shit_ , I thought to myself, hanging up my vest. _Just getting to see the entire Elite from across the **room** would have made my week. Now you have a fucking date with Kenny Omega? More importantly, you have a date with the guy you've been crushing on for the past, oh, eight or nine months? What_ _am I doing? What is he **thinking**?_

Tired as I was, I could feel myself crashing as I sat down to unlace my boots. Time to race my anxiety to bed. Some walls hold things up. Some walls hold things back to keep you safe. Floodgates. And I had a lot to hold back. 

_Fuck. Just... Do what you do. Keep moving._

Took my pills, brushed my teeth, turned on the shower. As I pulled my shirt over my head, I swore I smelled him in the fabric, and my whole body seemed to drop in relief. 

_Well that's new._

I smelled it again, since no one was looking. You know. Just to make sure. It was definitely him. I thought about setting it aside to sleep in, but it was drenched in several different people's sweat. _And, honestly, that's a bit much, even for you._ So with a small, silly noise of regret, I tossed the shirt into the hamper and started on everything else. 

A half-assed smile came from my reflection in the bathroom mirror as it started to fog up. I was up maybe twenty-five pounds of muscle, and being from hearty farm stock, blessed with some decent quads and broad-ass shoulders, but I still didn't always feel like enough. Five-foot-one with hips, so hung up on it that I put off coming out for years; seemed hopeless since I couldn't pass anyway. 

A few years of the right treatment had helped, as did a decade's worth of combat sports and black iron gyms. It _felt_ better, at least. My momma told me once, "You don't have to accept what you're given, but you do have to work with it." 

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face. Opened them and I was still there. Dammit. 

I pulled the curtain away and stepped into the water, making an inappropriate noise of glee at the sensation on my skin. Forgot everything for a moment. My phone hooked up with the Bluetooth speaker I kept in there, and the playlist meandered along its way as I tried to wash the Murray's out of my hair and not get shampoo in my mouth while I sang. 

_al nacer ya eres parte de esta sociedad_  
_bienvenido chaval_  
_clasificadle en un nuevo carnet de identidad  
_ _ya eres uno más, ya eres uno más_

_ingresarás en una escuela por tu educación_  
_te vamos a preparar_  
_a cometer los errores que cometo yo  
_ _te vamos a integrar, ya eres uno más_

But the thought just kept punching me in the ribs. Never enough.

Especially when it came to guys. They were quick to hurt and hard to trust and I'd gotten burned real bad a few times, in the early days, by dudes who thought the fact that I still had a cunt meant they could... treat me wrong, let's put it that way. No matter how many times I said it, it was never enough. Hell, it went back a lot further than that, but I tried not to think about it if at all possible these days.

New people, new risks, new explanations, new fear. 

He's _not_ new. He's not _new._  

He already knows who you are. He knows, and he still opened that door and called out your name.

He called out your name.

He touched you when it was okay.

He still sat you down and asked.

He did it because he wantedto. 

_dejarás que el mundo muera a tu alrededor_  
_y al rico obedecerás  
__si eres mujer lo tienes todavía peor  
__más desigualdad, ya eres una más_  

I got out, toweled off, and threw on some boxers before climbing into bed. My phone was plugged in to charge, but it was flashing, so I flipped the case open and scrolled. Most of it was just notifications, pictures, tweets, but there was one recent text.

_**KO:** Just, like, in case me falling all over myself wasn't enough of a clue, I really enjoyed getting to see you tonight. Worth the wait. I hope you had a great time - it looked like you were enjoying yourself out there._

I smiled. 

_**me:**  Hard same, although I'm sure that goes without saying. Thank you for the opportunity._

To my surprise, my phone pinged shortly thereafter. 

_**KO:** Eep, I didn't expect a response. Sorry if I woke you!_

On impulse, I hit the call button, and his sweet sleepy voice was in my ear a few seconds later. 

"You just get home? Safe I hope? Everything go okay?"

"Yeah, got back maybe twenty minutes ago. Just got out the shower." 

"Ooo, thanks for the mental image." I could  _hear_ him smirking through the phone before the two-second delay hit. "I mean, shit, sorry, that was... that was something."

"Nerd." I rolled over onto my back and reached for the lamp. "You still wanna see me tomorrow?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." His voice softened. "You don't have to do anything you don't want. I still feel like a jerk for the whole mystery-man thing. And I don't know if I'm moving too fast."

He had a point.

"Are you worried I only said yes because you are who you are?" 

"A little bit. The guys were giving me a little shit about the idea - that you might feel like you had to go along." 

I yawned. " _Un poquito._ I appreciate that y'all think that far ahead, Omega, but for what it's worth, if I were only doing this because I'm starstruck, I'd be too goddamn nervous to say yes in the first place. Free and clear, I promise." 

"Yeah? I just want things to be fair."

"You'll get over that," I mumbled before I could stop myself, and then got a  _very_ distracting mental image.

Kenny didn't know this, but I didn't _like_ it when things were fair all the time. Not to get ahead of myself.  _Aaaaand stop that right now, perv._  

"I'm sure any fangirl-or-boy-or-other in their right mind would've said yes, but lucky for you, I ain't in my right mind. You were my friend first. That's the guy I said yes to."  _That's the guy I was praying would ask._

He sighed. "Good. No matter how it all goes, I'm not going anywhere. Unless you, ya know, tell me that's what you want. You're really important to me, you know that?"

I half-buried my face in my pillow. "And I had a crush on you before I even saw your face, so I don't know which of us is the bigger sap."

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow." It was his turn to yawn, voice growing heavy and thick. " _Oyasumi nasai_ , Will."

"Sweet dreams, Kenny."

I set my phone down, then pulled up the sheets with a shiver. His comment about fairness had pinged me with something that ran down my spine and coiled in my lower stomach. I ran my hands experimentally up my body but anxiety left me too wired, too strung-out, where even my own touch felt irritatingly overstimulating. I settled instead for curling up on my side, imagining I could still smell him on my skin.  

In the morning, I texted him a time and an address. _Here goes nothing._

* * *

_way to go_  
_who'd believe it?_  
_look at us now_  
_now it's the best_  
_another hour of your devotion_  
_stick around,_ _now I'm a mess_

 

So there I was in my favorite local ramen house, wearing a soft cotton charcoal pinstriped dress shirt with a purple houndstooth bowtie that may or may not have coordinated with the colorway of my custom Spezials - a birthday gift from mom, whose sneaker rack beat mine up and took its lunch money on the regular. I was fifteen minutes early. Kenny was ten, and that gave us a good laugh as we hugged and headed in together. He was fresh from some press junket: all black, lots of buttons, hair tied back with a handful of escaped curls. It was hard not to stare, especially when -

"Are those cowboy boots?" I asked in disbelief as we sat down. "Ropers, even?"

Kenny just winked at me. "Go big or go home. Or, ya know, what happens when they tell me not to wear sneakers to business events."

I gave him the eyebrow. "Yeah? That it?"

He huffed in fake indignity. "You own a _Stetson!_ I've seen the pictures! That might even be worse!"

"I literally grew up on a farm. What's your excuse, city slicker?" My poker face failed, like it always does, but my drawl came through loud and fuckin' clear. His shoulders shook, and I realized in a glorious, horrifying moment that I would do pretty much anything to make this guy laugh. 

_Oh, you're a goner, son. You got a lot of problems, and half of 'em are across this table._

A compact, handsome figure I knew well approached us, and I bit my lip and gave him a crisp nod. But before I could utter a peep, Kenny greeted him and started to make conversation, then turned to me and said something that I recognized a fraction of. I in turn made a face that was even more awkward than usual. The young waiter tilted his head down and slung a look at me through his fringe, and I let out a conspiratorial cackle that made my date raise an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Instead of responding to him, I turned to face the waiter and said, " _Lo siento_ , Tomo-san. _¡No sabe!_ " I tilted my head, indicating a very flustered Kenny.

He nodded, concentrating. " _Yo entiendo. Como se dice... ¿qué van a tomar? O, ¿quieres bebidas? ¿Es bien?"_

I laid my hand dramatically over my heart." _Quisiera tés, por favor_." Wait. Grammar? Whatever, close enough. " _Y cualquiera_ - either one -  _está bien_."

He nodded again before walking away.

Kenny looked flustered. "What was that? You - but he -"

"Kenny, I... don't speak Japanese." I couldn't help smiling as I realized how silly it felt, and sounded. "My dad was so hell-bent on Americanizing that we weren't allowed. Pretty SOP for the first and second crowd. Well, except my grandma, she taught us how to swear and shit, but ain't nobody stopping her from doing what she wants." I shrugged. "He's lightened up in his later years, but old dog, new tricks, all that shit applies to both of us. Besides, where I grew up, it was 50/50 on hearing English at all, but not in the way you think."

Tomonobu brought the drinks, and Kenny buried his face in his tea while I sipped mine lazily, and concluded, "So Tomo-san asked me to teach him some shitty hillbilly Spanish, and I've been glad to oblige for the last couple of weeks so he can yell at the staff in three languages. Quality entertainment for everyone involved." Tomo-san winked at me from across the room, and I snapped him my best salute.

"Well there goes trying to impress you with my manners." He smiled, tight-lipped, and I realized it was one of those _I totally made a joke unless you're serious in which case it's not a joke_ moments and raised an eyebrow. 

"First of all, oh my god, the last thing  _you_  need to worry about is impressing me. But second, feel free to impress me all you want, and I promise to notice. Just, ya know, there's a lot more to either of us than where we came from, yeah?"

The corner of Kenny's mouth twitched. "God, I'm so hopeless."

" _Un poquito_." This was becoming a bit of a charming refrain. "But I'm also a hypervigilant ass when it comes to cocky white boys. I won't deny it."

I half-expected him to laugh, but instead he just continued nodding seriously, allowing a small hint of humor to turn up the corner of his mouth as he thought. Tomonobu had returned, and we both ordered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kenny asked, twining his fingers together on the tabletop. 

"Not really, but I feel like I probably should get it over with." I shrugged. Leaned forward, elbows on the table as I heard my mom's voice ask whether I was raised in a barn, let out a deep breath that curved my shoulders forward. "My entire life, socially speaking, but _especially_ back when people thought I was a girl, has been pummeled through the meat grinder by one-sided perception from white people - being chased by yellow-fever creeps who didn't actually give a shit about me. The exotification, the inevitable fucking questions about, I dunno, anime, or sexual submissiveness, or the droning goddamn monologues about how much they just  _love_  Asians, like we're all one mono-fucking-lithic foreign species. I'm sure you've seen me go off about _that_ on the internet so many times you could probably recreate the script for me."

I took a big swig. "And that's not even counting the generations of trauma that got my family here in the first place, or spending literal decades hiding out from whatever the hell was wrong with my brain. So yeah, guys like you freak me out a little. For every part of me that says, I know  _you,_ I  _know_ you, you're a hell of a lot smarter and more nuanced than what it is I'm afraid of... the other half says 'hold my beer and wait for it' and I don't even  _drink_ anymore."

I...did not mean to sound _quite_ so grouchy, but the circumstances were strumming on my nerves, and I set my empty cup down without my usual overly-cautious regard for silence as Kenny hit me with a sad smile that still made my heart jump a little. 

"I wish I could say I was surprised, but not even a little bit. All I can say is, I promise my intentions do not in any way involve anime or any implications regarding your assumed sexual submissiveness."

I barely fought back a snort; he'd deadpanned so hard I half-expected a pinkie swear or that thing you do when you say the Boy Scout oath. "Good, because you do  _not_  want me to give you the full dissertation. We'll both starve to death before I'm done."

He drained his own cup; Tomo-san brought us a couple of gigantic bowls that smelled like miso and happiness, and we fell silent for a moment, tucking in. 

Finally, Kenny glanced up at me, thoughtful and substantially more composed than I think I'd ever looked in my entire damn life. "There's a lot on your plate that isn't on mine, pun definitely intended. I can try and empathize to the best of my ability, but at the end of the day, I get sheltered from so much because of who and what I am." He gave me a tiny smile. "I'm used to constantly having to over-prove myself in this hypermasculine environment, to show that my heart is good and I deserve to be taken seriously, and to _also_ play it up as though I'm multiply marginalized in this thing I absolutely chose for myself, and that's all very nice in context, I guess. But I'm here with  _you_  now, and still relying on those habits even though they're not necessary. It's fucking gratuitous." 

I managed to contain this _particular_ outburst until I finished my mouthful and then literally dropped my chopsticks. "You show up in my life, you don't think I'm a creep, you ask me on a date, ya like Jerry Lewis, you give me hope to carry on, and then you start talking about intersectionality? This is out of hand and I won't stand for it."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Wait. Did you just quote  _Buckaroo Banzai_ on a date?" Now his eyes had a spark to them.

"Did you just  _recognize_ me quoting  _Buckaroo Banzai_ on a date? Because I'm pretty sure that means we're legally married in some states." I picked my chopsticks back up and tilted my bowl before strategically snagging a slice of pork.

"Oh good, that just saves me having to work up the nerve to ask you out again.” I almost didn't catch that at first, and it started a slow flush creeping up my neck. “Now, I gotta ask: why'd you bring a white guy to a ramen house? Were you just hoping I'd make an ass of myself?"

I gestured vaguely. "Honestly? Didn't even think about it. I hang out here too much because I live two blocks away, and there's a shop between here and there that has the best pie in the city." I lowered my voice to a stage whisper. "Plus, Tomo-san is a babe."

"I mean, you're not wrong. But your motivation was  _pie?_ " He tried to look skeptical, but I could see the smile peeking out around the edges.

"Look, Omega, I know you're a big fancy rockstar and I'm a cranky whiner who is doing an incredible job making himself look a mess, but my last two dates have stood me up for one reason or another, and I figured if the third one in a row went all ass-over-teakettle I would at least be able to console myself with blackberry pecan and not have to spend forty-five minutes getting home. It's logistics.” I turned my attention back to my noodles. “Also, I can't  _believe_  I just told you that."

After a few moments of quiet chewing, he spoke up. "I can't actually remember when my last three dates  _were._ Just the thought of standing you up is, like, not even within the realm of possibility. Have you  _seen_  you lately? Have you  _heard_  you? That is not a man you pass up."

I felt the blush make a concerted effort to take over. "This from the guy who has entire fanblogs dedicated to how good his ass looks in tights."

"Yeah, well, if I had my way, there'd be an equal number for how good you look in jeans." He bit his lip. 

_And I'm dead._

After dinner, we walked to the nearby park and I took him out on my favorite pier. The wind rifled through his curls like a thief, draping them just-so over the bridge of his nose. He laughed and tried to tuck them behind his ears, an established fool's errand.

To my surprise, he took my hand as we stood, watching the shorebirds peck at the fishermen's leftovers, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye.

"Okay, time for  _me_  to ask an invasive question: how out are you? Is this okay, or are you worried if the wrong person sees you, in general or with me specifically?"

He shrugged. "Hey, I started it. I've had the big sit-down with everyone who matters. As for the rest, you know I usually play the details close to my chest. Then again, there hasn't been much to share as of late." He squeezed my hand and just remembering he was there gave me a thrill. I tucked my body close to his, reveling in the way he slung his arm over my shoulders, still reached for my outside hand, hung on and didn't treat me like a small, fragile thing.

"Besides," he continued, ducking down to brush his lips over my temple, "If anyone out here gives us shit, I'll just get you to beat them up."

I cackled, and tightened my arm around his waist. "Fair enough."

When it got too cold and late to be out any longer, he walked me back to my apartment, after a pie pickup, of course, and graciously accepted my invitation to come upstairs. He didn't let go of my hand for longer than the few seconds it took for me to wrangle my wallet at the counter, and I didn't want him to, so I handed him the pie and awkwardly managed to finagle my keys and the doors with my free hand. I couldn't remember the last time somebody seemed to _like_ touching me that much, but every minute of it sank me deeper into my own skin. It was gloriously calming.

I made us tea, and he made his way through my bookshelves like a kid on Christmas, exclaiming at the pulp westerns, complex feminist tomes, and indie graphic novels with equal delight.

For all I thought I knew about him, there were some things I couldn't possibly have captured: the way his face lit up when he saw something familiar, and the way he started talking a hundred miles an hour but still so, so carefully. The way he hooked his arm through the crook of my elbow, still gesturing with both hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he leaned on the couch at my side, head on my chest, and trembled a little when I finally gave into temptation and, with his permission, raked my fingers through those soft curls. 

The evening ended at a perfectly reasonable hour, with him abruptly falling asleep on me halfway through Netflix and pie, which we had settled for eating directly out of the tin with forks.

_Well, dipshit, no more idly wondering if you'll sleep with him on the first date. Congratulations!_

He was too big for me to reliably carry, and I figured accidentally knocking your date's head into a doorframe was in poor taste, so I nudged him awake and guided him in the direction of bed. He put up a small fight, insisting that he was totally awake and should go back to his hotel, but before he could even finish the sentence, he was out again and I just draped the blankets over him and went about clearing up and getting myself ready for sleep.

After a small internal debate, I grabbed a pillow off the bed and added it to the preexisting couch nest in which we'd been tangled before bundling up in my pajamas and drifting off. Just having him in the next room over felt more satisfying than it had any right to. 

All this time. All those words, all those songs. All those weird little moments of blushing at my phone and flailing when I got a text. All that and here we were. 

I awoke to him still buried in the sheets as I made my way to the bathroom, and busied myself making tea since I didn't know what he'd want for breakfast, if anything.

He came into my little kitchen a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes, and I nudged the second cup in his direction. "Oh wow, I'm so sorry about last night. Usually I'm a terrible sleeper, so I figured I would be fine for a few more hours, but apparently not."

"Must've knocked you right out with my charm." I tried to cover my smile with my mug, which I'm pretty sure was useless. Even his bedhead was cute. At some point during the night, he must have gotten up, because I'd put him to bed fully clothed and yet here he was in boxers and an undershirt. It wasn't like I hadn't just seen him in nothing but low-slung tights and boots a couple of days ago - and the reminder of being held close to his sweaty chest definitely killed any remaining attempts not to blush - but this beautiful man standing in my kitchen felt almost sinful, even though the most carnal act we'd committed the night before was wanton and intense hand-holding.

"Why didn't you come to bed with me?" he finally asked, running a hand over his face as he sat down. "Did I snore that bad?" He smiled, and I shook my head.

"I didn't want to bother you; you were pretty out of it. Plus, I dunno, it just didn't seem right to be all up in your business without knowing for sure if you wanted me there." That much was definitely true.  _Also, you're gorgeous and I'm not sure if being this happy is actually allowed and if I got any closer I might've burst into flames._

"That's... Actually, I really appreciate that. I wouldn't have minded you joining me, for the record, but thank you for thinking about it. You're sweet."

I shrugged. "Pie for breakfast, or Sunday brunch? I won't kick a fella out unfed.”

 

 

  
_it's time to wake up and go for sure_  
_two down in the time it took to call_  
_for cold yakisoba_  
_more brings the balance that i adore_  
_time time going going gone_  
_not like it's over_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ska-p - planeta eskoria - "eres un@ más"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxQ7wkxPAx0)  
>   
> 
> (very) rough translation, in case you want to know:
> 
> at birth you are part of this society  
> welcome, boy  
> classify him with a new ID  
> you're already [just] one more, you're already one more
> 
> you'll go to school for your education  
> we will prepare you to make the mistakes that i make  
> we will integrate you  
> you're already one more  
> [...]  
> you will let the world die around you  
> and you'll obey the rich  
> if you're a woman you have it even worse,  
> more inequality, you're already one more


	3. that's what my heart needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after. things get weirdly domestic. 
> 
> (and y'all know me. if there's no fucking [yet], there'd better be fightin'. and dancin'. :D)
> 
> cn: there's some mild allusions to Will's addiction history. The kink stuff is getting very unsubtle. 
> 
> [Soundtrack - Otis Redding - Pain In My Heart - "That's What My Heart Needs"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eprv6ek8N-I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna publish this sooner but I had a wrasslin' intensive and now I probably still shouldn't be publishing it because I'm so exhausted from that, I forgot how socks work. Seriously. I'm not to be trusted. And yet here I am proofreading. 
> 
> I love you guys and your kindness. I can't emphasize that enough.

"So what are you up to today?" Kenny asked. The diner bustled in the background, but I couldn't have focused on anything other than my food and him if my life depended on it. Place could've been on fire, for all I knew.

I sipped some more tomato juice. "Stuffing my face full of this omelette and then presumably saying goodbye to you and moping for the rest of the day. Probably go to the gym. Might catch up on  _Archer._ The usual." I had no answer except smartassery, which is what you get for being all Comrade Questions before 10am. "You?"

The look on his face was pure, beautiful mischief. "Moping, eh? We can't have that." He paused. "What if I just keep offering to feed you?"

He rested his forearms gently on the table and I realized I was near-drunkenly mesmerized by the utter fucking divine-ass circumstances that the universe must have concocted in order to, over the whole of human history, produce something as cautiously perfect as his hands. I felt like I could have written a goddamn encyclopedia about the smooth flow of his knuckles and those delicate, unbelievable fingers.

I needed another cup of coffee.

_You've got **big** fucking problems, kid. _

_Big fucking problems._

_And one of them is that you've been silent for way too long._

_Yeah, he's definitely staring. **Fuck**. _

_Okay. **Salvage** yourself, ho. Say something. Say fucking literally anything at all -_

"I mean, I do love food. Like, a lot. Like, would set my Facebook to 'in a relationship with burritos' and it ain't complicated. What're you getting at, Omega? You may have noticed I'm not the quickest on the uptake."

_Well, those were definitely... Words._

That made him laugh, at least, which frankly was a reward unto itself. "Well, I would love to keep spending time with you today. If that's amenable."

"Let me think about that. Oh wait,  _of fucking course_ it's amenable, you dork." I couldn't really help myself, and we shared a big old smile across the battered table even as I was anxiously tugging on the corner of my napkin. "But you'd best get either your sneakers or your pom-poms, because I haven't missed an open ring in four months. It's like church."

I half-expected him not to show after he went back to his hotel and I went home to change, but when I rolled up to the nondescript front door of my fight gym in neon shorts and my favorite tank, there he was: a goddamn dollop of perfection, sun striping through his hair as he pushed his aviators up his nose. He looked me up and down dramatically, and offered up a smirk for the "diamond in the rough" print on my shirt before reaching for the door. I successfully fought back the urge to slap him on the ass when I walked through, finger-combing my hair for the thousandth time instead. 

A few minutes later, we were harassing each other through warm-up sets, and he was beating my bench press senseless. Figures. _What I'd do for an extra seven inches. Of height. Better leverage. Get your mind out of the gutter._

I heard my name being hollered across the gym, so I grabbed my bag and indicated the sturdy, well-loved ring in the next room over. "That'd be me." 

For some completely unsurprising reason, crossing the floor felt like dragging my shaky ass through wet concrete, but I finally made it, and pulled out a roll of bandages and tape. My hands were too small for the men's gloves I had, but too wide for women's, so I had to pad the difference as much as could be legal in order to hold everything still. But I couldn't hold  _anything_ still at this particular moment, and when I dropped the tape and let loose with about my fourth string of expletives, Kenny stepped a little closer and asked if I wanted some help.

I let out a big breath before finally giving him the nod. And my fucking mouth. "I dunno, Omega, isn't it a little bit... U-Haul to be asking to be my cornerman this soon? You haven't even met my parents." 

He scoffed, and picked the tape up off the ground. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." 

It felt like all the blood in my body rushed to every spot where those surprisingly careful fingers brushed my skin. I was shaking like a leaf, to the point where I needed to brace myself against the apron. When he finished, they looked perfect, but I tugged on them obsessively anyway until it occurred to me that the fastest way to break the cycle would be to put my goddamn _gloves_ on. Thus equipped, I snagged my mouthguard out of its case, popped it in, and climbed on up.  

As soon as I stood fully, everything changed; I couldn't help the smile as my shoulders dropped a solid inch and I rolled them back. My whole body felt better. Hurt less. Felt like it _fit_ properly. I pounded my fight gloves together and cracked my neck, then reached back behind my head and pulled my shirt over by the collar. I tossed it to Kenny with what I hoped was a saucy wink before hollering at my gym mates, "Aight, which of you douchebags is it today?" 

Let me pause for a second to say this: 

I've been fighting in some form or another since I was thirteen; my mom convinced dad to let me try jiu-jitsu when some bigger kids stuck me in a trash can after English class, although I didn't get serious (well, "serious") until my early twenties. I'm not the strongest. I sure as hell ain't the biggest. But I'm a hell of a lot more stubborn than most people think a man could be capable of, and I will never miss a round. If it were possible to win a fight by annoying your opponent into submission, I'd be sporting a title belt or several. 

I've fought in every shape and size of ring and I've fought in back alleys and basements. I've fought hungover. I've fought when I got beat up the night before. I went in two hours after the girl I thought I was gonna marry left me for somebody else and slapped the shit outta the first guy who told me to take the night off. I've fought through tears and I've fought to get paid in whiskey and I fought when I was dopesick and half-dead from detox because it was the only thing that got me out of bed. I've fought on no food, no sleep, nothing but nicotine and spite, sounding like a goddamn country song. The only time I ever stopped was for surgery, and even then I was back the same day I got cleared. A lot can happen in ten or so years, and I'm not exactly notorious for making things easy.

Fighting in front of that man? I won't say it was any harder, but it was, in fact, some  _bullshit._

You try having _that_  in your corner; locking up only to see those big blue eyes peeking over the other guy's shoulder. Try hearing those perfect fucking hands pounding on the edge of the ring, try hearing all that encouragement and cheer coming from someone you've yelled yourself hoarse in support of. It is something fuckin' _else._  

Suffice to say, I took a few unnecessary hits, and it wasn't just because I was the only featherweight around that day and coach thought it would be funny to square me off with a 180-pounder with a six-foot reach who cheerfully went by the nickname "Bobcat."

The first time we clinched, he muttered in my ear, "Did you seriously bring Kenny fucking Omega with you to the gym, Will? You're gonna kill us all," and I laughed so hard I had to suck back drool from around my mouthguard. Then my brain added, _Sexy. I hope he sees that one._  

I couldn't even begin to defend myself as we both collapsed, shoulders shaking violently, and he snapped me facedown, probably harder than he meant to. Luckily, instinct and training took over, and I got my forearms up in time to keep from breaking my nose, but I still ended up stuck like an angry turtle for an embarrassingly long amount of time as Bobcat tried to jam his knees into my ribcage, both of us still giggling. In a super-manly way, of course. 

I finally hooked my arms around both of his long-ass legs and decked him into the mat, which garnered me a few cheers from the rest of the crew, but when I scrambled around, he sprawled and rolled over, kicking out of what was left of my hold. It was a brilliant use of his height advantage, and before I could stop myself, I yelled, "Nice!" and everybody laughed. Coach hollered at me, because that's his job, about losing focus and providing my own commentary, and I gave him an obnoxious, flippant homecoming-queen wave, because that's mine. 

I heard Kenny yell something with my name in it and I grinned, even as Bobcat started to sit up and took a wild swing at me from the ground. He missed, and I hooked his arm as the momentum of the punch continued to carry it forward, flipping him onto his front and locking in a straight armbar, hyperextending his elbow. I jammed one of my knees into the back of his shoulder joint and kept pulling, but I just wasn't goddamn tall enough to hang onto his wrist and his body at the same time, and after a few experimental wiggles, he straight-up tossed me off him. 

_Should have gone for the Kimura, dork,_ I quietly chastised myself.I landed on my back, rolled out, and - for reasons unknown to anybody, myself included - decided now was the time to pull a Nakamura, gesturing "Come on!" at crotch level, accompanied by a dramatic eyeroll. Bobcat started laughing again, and I took advantage of the break to knock him back to his knees. 

Let no one say this isn't a very serious hobby done in very serious gyms. 

This time, I twisted my short little arm across his torso as far as it would go and barely snagged the back of his neck, locking my other hand to complete the cravat. He almost broke out just by standing up straight, and I cussed under my breath, dragged him back down, and threw him forward until his back slammed hard onto the mat. He laid there, dazed, and I braced myself on my knees, took a ragged inhale, and gasped, "I can't believe that actually fucking worked." 

I heard Kenny's voice over my shoulder. "Did you... did you just fucking  _snapmare_ that guy?" 

I fired back the first thing that came to mind: "None of your fucking business!" 

_Oh my god, what is wrong with you._

When we finished the last round, pounded gloves and hugged, wheezing for breath, I staggered out of the ring and almost fell into Kenny's arms. He was rumpling my sweaty hair, going for a selfie even as I swatted at his chest, and all I could do was cough something semi-coherent about how apparently he wasn't the only one going out of his way to impress. My coach asked if he could take a picture of his own, and we all looked around at each other before shrugging and nodding. I jumped up on the ring edge and flexed, cackling at the chance to tower over the two bigger guys, and Kenny threw something over his shoulder before we all leaned in. I was still so fight-high that it didn't occur to me until several seconds later that it was the shirt I'd forgotten to put back on, and when he tugged it over my head for me, smoothing the fabric down my back, the sudden intimacy of that gesture just about took out my already-weak knees. 

Later that night, he surprised me for what felt like the hundredth time by asking if I wanted to come back to his hotel, and I surprised myself by saying, well, no.

"I mean, not that I don't  _want_  to, but I have to work early, and y'all are across town from where I'm headed. I'd have to leave at some even more ridiculous hour to catch the right bus."

He nodded knowingly. "Would it be creepy to ask if I could see you tomorrow, then? I really want to make up for lost time."

I wanted to interrupt him in mid-sentence with excitement, but instead, for maybe the first time in my whole life, I shut my damned mouth, took a deep breath, and actually thought about it. 

It should've been a lot. It was kinda fast. But it didn't feel that way.

Hell, it actually felt  _right._ Distracting, of course, but right, the way he'd just sorta sidled up next to me, literally and figuratively. Like I'd been leaving space for him without even realizing it. I wanted him there as much as he wanted to be there, and the way his face lit up when I told him so made me feel like a kid.

And then my brain got started. That fucker. 

_Of course you're gonna say yes. You'll probably never see him again after all this is over. He's got a huge life and you are a tiny speck of a person. You'd better enjoy this while it's still happening. That's all you get. That's all you ever get._

That thought dropped me like a rock, and he must've read it on my face immediately. "You okay?"

I shook my head, slowly. "Just a lot to think about. But I would love to see you, and that's the truth." 

_He opened the door and he called out your name._

_He did it because he wanted to._

I offered to take the ride back to his hotel with him, but he insisted I go to bed at a reasonable hour, and before we could out-gentleman each other into oblivion, he'd leaned down, softly kissed my cheek, and let himself out the front door.

I closed it behind him before dropping my ass on the floor like an idiot. A swoony, ridiculous, _stupid_ idiot, who suddenly remembered what it felt like to think he needed a beer. 

My phone buzzed, freakishly loud in the quiet house, and I scrambled to try and jam my hand into my jeans pocket, slipping and falling the rest of the way to the hardwood in the process and almost knocking myself out on the shoe rack.  _Fucking hell._

It was a call, from a very familiar face, which I answered lying flat on my back on the ground. 

_Man. I should probably repaint the ceiling at some point._

"Hey Pol, what's up?"

My dear friend and confidant didn't waste a second. She rarely did. "What the  _fuck_ is this shit on twitter? And  _why_ did you not tell me first?"

I raised my hand in surrender, and then remembered I was talking on the phone. Shit. 

"Whoa, hey, I haven't been online all damn day. No idea what you're talking about."

"Will, you  _asshole,_ " she groaned. "Look at your fucking dash. But don't read the comments. I mean, like 90% of them are fine, but -"

"I know, I know. Proverb number one. Hang on. I'm putting you on speaker." I hit the button, rolled to my side, and set the phone on the ground before swiping to the appropriate app. Sure enough, right there in my highlights was  _something,_ alright. And by "something," I mean that the gym had posted a new picture, complete with caption:

_Surprise visitor @KennyOmegamanX dropped by to cornerman for some sparring!  #JustAnotherSunday #TooSweet_

And there I was. There we were. I looked like hell, of course; hair was a wreck and my scars still flushed pink even after all these years, but that hadn't stopped Kenny from retweeting on his ride back, and the reactions had been piling up. 

"Oh, no shit," I said, eloquently, pretending to be calm. "Probably should've seen that coming. He did ask, after all."

Polly's voice was _way_ too careful, and I knew by now that meant I was probably in trouble. " _Will._ You were at the _gym_ with _Kenny_ and you _didn't_   _tell_ me? _"_

Hoo boy. That's a lot of emphasis. I scrubbed my face with my hands. "It all happened kinda fast. You think I'll get a sponsorship if that shit goes viral?"

"It all - wait, what? Are you... did you... is _that..._?" She was sputtering so hard I almost laughed, but coughed it back. To the best of my knowledge, you can't actually murder someone via the telephone, but I had no interest in finding out for sure.  

I was starting to get a headache. "I'm not a hundred percent sure what the _question_ is, but... probably?"  

"I'm literally going to kill you," she said, but the tension had decreased noticeably.  

I made sure the smile came through in my voice. "Love you too, darlin'. Now I gotta go make some soup."

"You and your habits." 

I shook my head. "Gotta have something." 

* * *

 

I'd just told him to come over a few minutes past when I knew I'd be getting home, and he knocked on the door before I had a chance to change out of my work drag. When I let him in, he blushed in a way I hadn't seen since that first night, and kissed my cheek again before adding that I looked  _so_   _handsome_ with actual wonder in his voice. I started to think once more that it was some sort of elaborate joke as I shook out my jacket and hung it up.

He set his bag down on my couch. "How was work?"

_Honey, I'm home._

"It was pretty good," I called over my shoulder as I went into the kitchen to turn off the slow cooker, which I'd set up with a frankly enormous amount of thick Sunday night stew. "One of my nightmare proposals actually got accepted, at least for round one. So I've got a couple weeks of peace before the lawyers chime in and announce that there's got to be a few changes, and by 'a few' I mean they hate everything I've ever done and want to set it on fire." 

"The CEMLA thing?"

I stopped in front of the stove and raised an eyebrow at no one in particular. "Two points for Omega. Hell, I don't think my _boss_ remembers what I'm writing half the time."

He walked into the kitchen entrance, leaning on the frame with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and I fought back a laugh at realizing he took up pretty much the whole damn thing. "Can I help?"

"Nah, just gotta make rice. Tell me about your day." I'd been letting it soak on the stove for the last fifteen or twenty minutes, like my grandmother always insisted, and finally turned on the heat. He turned to the side, tucking himself against the doorway, and I passed close to him on my way to the bedroom, nonchalantly dragging my fingers along his chest with one hand as I yanked my tie off with the other. 

"Oh the usual - hey you." He interrupted himself softly when I touched him, and I bit back a smile at that. "Gym, press stuff, filming with the guys." 

I'd rolled up my tie and started unbuttoning my dress shirt without really thinking, and instinctively went for the t-shirt drawer before realizing I actually felt okay. I mean, I looked like a fucking dork in my suit pants and A-shirt, but the little voice that constantly told me  _put that shit away_ was quieter than I expected. Lord knows, he's seen more of you than most people ever care to. I rolled my eyes and swapped out the trousers for the grease-stained jeans that had basically become my equivalent of sweatpants over the last few years. 

When I glanced back, he was looking into the kitchen. Turned his back while I was changing. That's just fucking precious. 

Wait. He was in my doorway. 

He was in my _doorway_ when I left the kitchen and it didn't scare the shit out of me. 

That's unusual. Something bubbled in my chest. 

I wouldn't consider myself easy to intimidate, but I know who I am, and I know what I am, and I do  _not_ like it when my only means of egress is blocked, particularly by large people. But in that moment, he'd moved aside with only a hint of a glance. Like he knew. 

A lot of things made more sense. A lot of things got confusing. 

The thought bumbled around the corner of my mind during dinner, and I almost missed it when he broached the topic of the rest of the week. 

"I've got seminars and stuff during the day, and I know you've got work, and I'm sure you've got plans with friends and other stuff you could be doing -" he fumbled nervously, and it hit me that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't alone.

_Who fucking cares. He's gonna come to his senses eventually. Everybody does. Too much, or not enough._

"Ken, maybe we shouldn't be doing this. Or I shouldn't be." My voice cracked a little. For once, I wasn't trying to play it hard. I sounded a little scared. I  _was_ scared. Just a little. 

I made the mistake of glancing up at Kenny's face even as I turned away. Presenting a smaller target, like that would make it hurt less. He'd zeroed in close anyway, gaze fixed but soft, like he needed to catch everything. Like it mattered. 

It took a long time before he spoke, soft as sunshine, and I still jumped a little in my seat. 

"If you want me to go, I'll go. But if you'd be up to talking about why you feel that way, I'd be more than willing to have that conversation." 

I exhaled, straightened my back on my chair, and finally turned to face him. _Fuck, he's so pretty. Why._

"I don't know I even deserve that. It's pretty fucking presumptuous on my end, after all." 

"Will." He reached for my shoulder, but I flinched, and he folded his hands over one thigh as I silently swore at myself for not being able to control my reactions. "For what it's worth, I don't think going there is unreasonable. At all. I'm nervous about it too. I don't see anything wrong with bringing up the what-if." 

I rubbed my temples. "I just...I can't fucking decide if I should take whatever I can get right now, or walk away before I'm in way too deep and wonder what it could've been. It's not even fucking up to me, and either way, this 'living in the moment' shit is not my strong suit. I don't want to get spoiled and then have to go without. Hurts too fuckin' bad to picture." 

"Then don't." 

I looked over at him abruptly and felt my chest tighten. "Don't...?"

He gave me a sad smile and rubbed the lower half of his face with a flat palm. "I mean, some of it I can't help; it kinda comes with the job. I realized after I upset you that I was gonna regret not thinking that out, but I'll admit to convincing myself the long game was above my pay grade. I'll be back in a few weeks, at least. I know that's not ideal, but -"

"Wait, what?" 

He tilted his head. "Isn't that what you're asking?"

"No, I... Shit." I shook my head. "You're coming back?"

"Well yeah, I thought you knew about the next show already."

"No, I mean, you're coming  _back?"_

_To me?_

His face opened abruptly in understanding. "I would like to, if that's what you want. Am I getting ahead of myself?"

I shook my head. "Been asking myself that same goddamn question." That surge of bravery popped up again. Seemed to happen a lot when he was around. "Fuck this. I'm gonna sound like a fucking third grader for a second: I like you." _There. Done._ But the words kept tumbling. "Going out with you is nice. Staying in with you is nice. Having you around for things that are important in my life feels... completely terrifying and equally like the most natural goddamn thing in the world." 

He took a breath, and rubbed his hands on his knees. "I like you too. And I know what it's like to fuck up a good thing by not saying enough. Waiting too long. I'm not doing it again, okay? I don't care how many U-Haul jokes it takes."

I felt dazed, floaty, like I was several hits down some sort of echoey bright metal tunnel. "How...?"

"Because I fucking know you."

_Yeah, you do._

"I'm such an asshole," I muttered, death-gripping my hands together. "I've known you for like 72 hours and I'm already worried that you won't come back."

"You've known me for nearly a year! How many times am I going to have to point that out?" He looked mildly amused.

That echo feeling started again, but this time spread a slightly lopsided grin across my face. "Probably a lot more. Hope ya don't mind."

"What can I do to show you I'm serious about making the most of my time here? I mean, I have an idea or two."

I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing that seemed right: "Promise me something."

"Of course." 

I almost laughed at how serious his face got. _I get all that?_  "That you'll tell me no if you don't want it. Any of it. No agreeing to suffer through shit. No 'I'll just suck it up until it's time to leave town and then never call you again.'"

He stood up and, in two smooth steps, turned my fucking chair to the side like it and me weighed nothing. And then, wonder of fucking wonders, he dropped to his knees on the floor between my feet and looked right up into my face. 

My blood tried to rush everywhere at once, and I cleared my throat. "That's... That's not necessary. I don't know where you heard that rumor."  _It's totally a joke unless you're serious in which case it's not a joke._

"It just seemed like a good moment as any. To, um. Show you I mean it." I thought I caught the barest flash of a smile. "Look, I'm being fucking dramatic here. Tell me what you want, Will."

_For fuck's fucking sake._

"Do you..." I steadied myself, bracing my elbows on my thighs before I realized that would bring our faces dangerously close. Then I did it anyway. "Do you just want to stay here until you have to leave on Saturday? I mean, I would totally understand if you wanted to keep your hotel room so you can have your own space and all that, but -"

He stopped me in mid-sentence by leaning his head on my fucking thigh. Brushed his cheek on the back of my fucking wrist. "I would love that."

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to jump out of my damned seat. I wanted to obtain explicit, sensible consent from his sweet fucking mouth and then drag him on his knees across the floor, throw him through the doorway, and make him crawl into my bed. 

I did none of those things. Instead, I gave him the eyebrow, and ran my mouth.

"Okay, your turn." He gave me a half-lidded, lingering glance back. "What? You said you had an idea! Two, even!" 

He nodded and then sat back on his heels. The warm spot where his face had been suddenly ached.

"Well... Do you want to spend some time with the guys? It's as close to 'meeting the folks' as I have, given the circumstances. And they've been ragging on me nonstop about you."

"Deal, but my friends are coming too."

He grinned. "Deal. Even better."

That night, we actually found out what it was like to sleep in the same bed. No sooner had I laid back and stretched out than he curled up to my side, face pressed into my shoulder, arm slung over my waist. I reached over, meandered my fingertips over his scalp, brushing his curls from his face, and he sank down on me like sunset. 

It was frighteningly intimate. It was the easiest thing in the world. It was an actual dream from which I would surely wake up, any second. It was as real as roses. Everywhere our skin met seemed to hum. I thought I'd never sleep because my heart was racing so fast but once he settled in, the careful evenness of his breathing dragged my eyelids down with it. 

This is a long way of saying that even his fucking  _snoring_ was cute. 

The next morning, he checked out and brought his stuff to my apartment, and when I came home, there he was, spare keys in his pocket and toothbrush on the sink. Like he damned well belonged there. 

Then it was my turn, so I looked at my calendar and made some semblance of what I hoped was a plan.

* * *

 

_He hasn't even tried to_ _**kiss**_ _you_ , my brain helpfully reminded me. _What if_ _you got bro-zoned on the first date and just kept rolling with it? What a fuckin' sap._

It's like having a small rude person who lives in your skull and talks to you all day except nothing he says is helpful.

There's a few ways to shut him up, though. At least temporarily.

And that's how I found myself sharing a dancefloor on soul night - which really meant everything from James Brown to Chuck Brown as long as you can move to it - with three noisy-ass longhairs in skinny jeans and the regular crew of miscreants disguised as grown-ups I liked to call my friends. I wasn't sure if the Bucks would fall in with my usual, but holy fuck, those guys were fun, and I'm pretty sure it's impossible to be sad when the cute DJ is trying not to giggle herself half to death at the fact that you're in a Jackson sandwich while she's blasting Sam & Dave.

We were catching our breath when Sam Cooke came over the speakers, and my face must have lit up because Kenny reached over, slipped his fingers through mine, and asked if I wanted to dance. I swallowed nervously before nodding, and he wrapped me up in his arms, tucking my hand into his as I tried to stay calm. Shit. Fuck. He was doing this.

_It's because he thinks you're a girl, why else?_ , the helpful voice in my lizard brain offered. 

_No one asked you, dickwad,_ I said to myself.  _Well, I mean,_ _**he** did_ _, and you'd better at least fucking try._

So I tried.

It was the most awkward thing I've ever done in my life.

Which is saying something.

I kept stepping on his shoes and weaving in the wrong direction and just generally being a hot mess. I was pretty sure my face was purple. And I was panicking, for about seven different reasons.

Finally, I stopped after the first verse. "I am  _so_ sorry. This is ridiculous."

He stopped too, and leaned into my ear. "You okay? I just saw you shaking your ass just fine like five minutes ago, so if I'm weirding you out or something's wrong, we can call it quits, you know."

It was not physically possible to blush even further. And yet here I was.

"I... Fuck, Kenny. I can't follow for shit. It's all backwards."

"Wait, what?"

I couldn't see his face, so I backed up.

Goddammit. "I can't follow! I suck at it. I haven't honestly let somebody else lead in like a decade. Let alone -"  _you of all people because I already can't breathe_ "- somebody I haven't danced with before."

His grin was so big I could actually  _feel_ it against my temple as he leaned back in. "Control issues, good sir?"

Staying calm was not my forte. "Something like that."

He pressed even closer, and dropped my hand. His next words were murmured so faintly I almost missed them. "I don't really like to lead."

I couldn't decide whether I was gonna die of embarrassment (again!) or be mad at him. "Then why on earth did you do it?"  _Because you think I'm a fucking girl._

"Honestly?" His mouth on my ear was giving me goosebumps, and he  _had_ to know that. "I have no idea. Everyone always expects me to. No one's ever given me the chance to follow."

Before I could stop it, I blurted out, "Are we still talking about dancing?"

It was his turn to blush, and in a rush of confidence, I tucked him into my arms. He had almost a foot on me, and probably fifty-plus pounds of muscle, but I was used to dancing with bigger people. Everyone was bigger than me, really. It just took a little adjusting.

The DJ put on a new .45, and I hugged him close as a slow familiar voice wove through the room like smoke.

_you left me for another_  
_you told me he was your lover_  
_so i'm begging and I'm pleading  
_ _and i'm down on bended knee, oh baby  
_ _that's what my heart needs_

"Can we try this again? I love this song." He grinned and nodded at me. Emboldened with new confidence, I led him forward, checking over my shoulder to make sure we didn't run into any of the other couples. Like us. Couples. Wait.

_i'm calling you out loud and clear, baby_  
_i love you, yes i do_  
_and i want to be near you, oh baby_  
_that's what my heart needs_

I started with a nice simple two-step, and he was a natural, leaning just enough of his weight on me that all it took was a nudge to get him where I wanted him to go. His grace never ceased to surprise me, the way it coiled lowly just beneath his surface. His willingness to trust my movements sure as shit never did cease to surprise me either. He kept giving me more points of contact, and I kept taking them, and leading him became less an awkward homecoming shuffle and more a conversation between two people who'd come across something that couldn't be articulated with words. Something wild and deliberate, universal and completely unique. I couldn't have explained myself in that moment for any amount of bribery or threats. All I could do was set him closer and hope whatever _this_ was could get through to him. Like a current. Like a great and winding current. 

_come on baby_  
_i said i need you right here by my side  
_ _i said i need you baby  
_ _i need you here to protect me and be my guide_

As the song was fading out, I turned my face up to Kenny's, and realized he was blissed out on a cloud someplace else. He'd closed his eyes and leaned happily down, body language placid. 

_I did that to him. I helped._  

I released our outside hands and brought mine up, trailing my fingers down his beautiful face, and his eyes opened slowly, half-lidded and almost feverish, as his free hand instinctively found my hip. He leaned that sweet face into my palm and - _he looks halfway to dropped,_ I thought with a start.  _And it's the most perfect fucking thing I've ever seen._

He leaned down and pressed our foreheads together, and before I could lose my nerve, I managed to let two words slip out: "May I?"

"Please," he whispered breathlessly against my face.

So I kissed him. It was chaste and soft and sweet and fucking electric and I held on as long as I could, cupping his face with my outside hand. And it was like every point of contact shot together. The outside of his right knee against the inside of my left. Stubble under my slow-moving hand. A slight weight on my left hip, indicating he'd slipped his thumb into my beltloop. The deep breath he took, the expansion of his shoulderblades bumping up against the pressure of my hand. The delicate weight of his fingertips on my right upper arm. All so light, so fucking light, like we both thought the other would break. Hearts to hearts. Skin to fabric to skin.

Until my legs started to seize up from standing on my toes. I dropped back to the ground with a dramatic noise and he flicked his eyes open only briefly before chuckling at the realization I'd been doing such a thing.

His hand slid up my shoulder to the back of my neck and I got that echoey feeling once again. "I thought you seemed taller," he murmured into my mouth.

When I finally opened my eyes and took a quick glance around the room, I burst out in my own laughter. Both of the Bucks were literally jumping up and down with excitement. I may have spotted a number of inter-friend-group high fives.

"Jeez, boys, if you wanted to be that involved in the action, all you had to do was ask," I drawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering specifically, [this is Will's favorite shirt,](http://imgur.com/Ng07A5u) via badass LGBTQ clothing line [Androgynous Fox.](https://www.androgynousfox.com/androgynous-clothing-tops/diamond-in-the-rough-tank-top)


	4. i am a stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more awkward conversations. negotiating. 
> 
> porn porn porn of the tenderqueer FEELINGS variety because kenny is (at least in my headcanon) affection-craving, insecure and with the potential to be overly accommodating when put in a position where he doesn't have to be a super-confident anime villain
> 
> i totally love all y'all and your wonderful comments and messages. thank you so so much. 
> 
> this is getting progressively harder because i accidentally deleted like 7k words worth of crap the other day, including about half of this chapter and the entire next one, and am trying to rebuild it. but i'm doing it, dammit! 
> 
>    
> [soundtrack: Baby Dee - "I Am a Stick"](https://soundcloud.com/tin-angel-records/i-am-a-stick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I have a thing for these boys. The ones who are sure of themselves at one moment, but awkward, nervous the next. I like extremes, opposites, contradictions. I like a boy supercool but painfully uncertain. Bold, then timid, then bold again. I like him unsure and breathless. Wet and hard, blood simmering, breathing heavy. Eyes and hands and mouth and cock all over me. But only how I want it. Only when I say so."  
> -Gina de Vries, "Cocksure"

I did it. I kissed him.

I fucking kissed him. I fucking did it.

In the romance novel in my head, the evening was cut short by manic energy and frantic need and, I don't know, fucking in the bar bathroom. In the actual world, the whole damn thing actually made me calmer. Grounded. Took the edge off.

It didn't help that there was no time;  _somebody_ let out a wolf whistle, and somebody else slapped me on the back and pressed a glass into my hand. I barely managed to get a whiff and an apologetic glance back to Kenny before Polly dragged me away from the dancefloor by my elbow.

Ginger beer. Housemade.  _Oh fuck yes._  I took a drag as she held my shoulders. "Is  _that_ what you haven't been telling me?"

I swallowed. "Yes? No? Kinda? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You just kissed a boy, Will. In front of everyone. You never kiss  _anybody._ Not like that. I'm not letting this shit slide."

"Fair enough." I sipped at my glass. "Who even gave me this?"

"Don't change the subject. But one of the boys. Sideburns. I always forget which one is which."

Huh. He'd told them I was sober. And remembered my favorite alternative.  _Why are my legs all wobbly?_ I flicked my eyes across the room and caught Kenny's. He gave me a surprisingly shy smile in return.

Polly was glaring and I realized I'd never actually responded. "Yeah. I... I kissed a boy."

"You kissed a  _Kenny."_

"Yeah, I guess I did." I stared into my drink, feeling five shots deep.

She sighed. "Is there anything else you'd like to share?"

"Not so far." 

"Are you being careful?"

"There's nothing to be careful about."

She looked at me over her glasses and it was hard not to giggle. "But there will be." 

I sighed. "Yes, mom. I'll be careful."

She huffed and glared at me. "If he hurts you, I swear to fucking god -"

"I'll call for backup. Do you think he will?" I looked seriously at her face. She was a smart, intuitive cookie who had known me for a decade.

"He looks at you like you're sacred, and I'm pretty sure he would have needed a fainting couch if you weren't holding him up. That's all I can say. Now finish your damn drink so we can dance."

"Yes'm."

* * *

 

At the end of the night, many hugs were exchanged, many hairstyles were rumpled, and in a haze of confusion, I found myself in the back of a cab headed home, sliding across the bench seat to bump into the long-legged fella to my left. 

_You never kiss_   ** _anybody._** _Not like that._

She wasn't wrong. I hadn't really dated in any significant way since my engagement ended, and that was  _years_ ago.

(People like us had their own fun, though. A couple of times a month I usually found myself warming up my wrists in the local DIY basement. Hell, last time, I'd had a grand old time topping Pol  _and_ her husband on the same bench, which had earned me a round of applause from Theo, the femme spinning 45s tonight who also doubled as the dungeon's unofficial and beautifully eccentric DJ.)

I smiled at the memory, then all but gasped as Kenny closed his hand softly around mine and leaned in, pressing his mouth to my temple like he'd done it a thousand times.

Even my internal monologue was speechless as his fingers danced their way across my arm and slowly, cautiously up my thigh. I picked my own arm up and draped it across the back of the seat, resting my fingers loosely on the nape of his neck, tangled through his hair. He let out a deep, relaxed breath, and I could feel his eyelashes against my face.

_You've got big problems. Big problems._

We made it back through the front door of my apartment, kicked off our shoes, and I tugged his hand towards the kitchen table. "C'mon. Let's talk."

He looked over at me. "Can we... couch?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure?"

"Easier to touch you," he offered, by way of an explanation, and I felt my face pinking up.  _Oh._

We both sat down, bodies angled towards each other, knees touching. A few stray curls fell in his eyes, and I reached for them with my free hand without thinking. He smiled at me as my fingers brushed the side of his face, and I had the sudden urge to kiss him again.

_Not now. Not now. Don't get carried away. Just -_

"Holy fuck, I'm nervous," I exhaled, interrupting myself.

In response, he let out a smirk that I was half-tempted to slap off his face. "Really? Theo told me you get more ass than a park bench."

"I do n- she did  _what?_ When the fuck did you hear that?"

"While you were off getting mom-lectured."

"I was  _not_ getting - wait, when did you hear  _that?_ "

"I didn't. You just had a look. And okay, she didn't use those exact words. But she did tell me you're pretty in-demand."

He was still holding one of my hands, and I used the free one to rub my eyes. "Fucking hell. Like you  _aren't,_ Mister 'I don't remember my last three dates.' Fuck off."

That earned me a grin, at least, before his face turned sheepish. "So... I have friends back home. Sometimes we hook up. It's nice, it's safe, it's people who know me well, and it makes things a lot less lonely. Not that I need to, if you don't want -"

"Ken. Let me stop you right there, okay?" Whew. Breathe. "First of all, we've kissed exactly once -"

He leaned forward and cradled the back of my head, and the urge to flail my free hand was so strong I found myself white-knuckling the back of the couch when our lips met.

When he pulled away, I involuntarily let out the saddest little sound, and bit my lip as he grinned again and finished, "Twice."

"Twice, got it. Twice. Yeah. Where was I? Fuck. I don't own you, okay?" It was really hot in here all of a sudden. I loosened my tie and draped it over the couch arm behind me. 

His line of sight lowered self-consciously to his fingers, and I found myself trying to verbally circle the wagons.

"Kitten." The literal pet name slipped out before I could help myself, but I saw his mouth quirk. "Can you look at me? I won't make you."

Finally, he dragged those big blue eyes up to mine, and breathed out. "Okay. You  _could_  make me, though. If you wanted."

"Would you like it?"

Kenny looked almost shocked for a moment, and then nodded.

I smiled. _That's a start. Now put your Top Hat on and do your job._  "Seems like it's standard nonsense these days to run around yanking faces to assert one's authority. But just because I am not a big man doesn't mean I conduct my business like a little one, yeah? Personally, the fastest way for someone to find out what my teeth look like is for them to try'n drag me around by my face, so I especially wouldn't be touching yours unless you told me it was okay. Which you just did, and I'm grateful."

I realized I was drawling a little bit, and fought back a smile before I continued. "Second things second, because you kindly placed it on the table: I don't give a damn what you do when I'm not around." I wrinkled my eyebrows, caught up in my own nonsense. "I mean... fucking hell. I care, of course, because you are  _something_  to me, and I'd like to know that what's going on in your life has you safe and happy. And if it doesn't, I'd like to know that too, so I can do whatever I have to do to make it right."

He tilted his head. "So you don't mind if I -"

"Doll, I  _encourage_  it. Shit, send me pictures if you want."

"Then I encourage you going to parties and beating people up and sometimes fucking them senseless. At least, that's my assumption about what you're doing." The mischief on his face was unmistakable as his fingers swept up the skin of my forearm to my cuffed sleeve, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

"Well, thank fuck that's out the way, then. I've been handing numbers out like we're at the deli and I'd hate to disappoint my loyal fanbase."

He laughed, at long last, and I felt five pounds lighter. "So what now?"

I shot back, "You tell me. I'm about to  _do_  it to you, after all."

That made him blush, which in turn only brought back what I knew was one hell of an obnoxious smirk making its slow journey across my mouth.

My eyes never left his face, and I tilted my head just the tiniest bit back. "Tell me what you like."

His response was instant. "You."

"Smooth moves, Omega, but you're gonna have to do better than that." 

He hesitated, and I felt the slow burn of panic start to cut at the ragged bottom edges of my lungs.

"You'd best not be holding your breath," I muttered. "You promised me, remember? No toughing it out. No  _charming_  your way out, either."

His grip on my hand tightened ever-so-slightly and he winked. "No, sir. Wouldn't dream of it, sir." The tone of his response was joking but the  _words_ did things to me I'd almost forgotten, that fluttered my eyes half-closed. Almost.

"I'm asking you again. Tell me what you like."

" _That's_  not asking, Will." I cut him off with a glare that was play-stern, and then blinked, once, slowly, before he continued. "God. I mean. Anything," he gritted out. "I know it's a fucking cliché but anything. Everything. Every fucking thing. You could ask me for whatever you wanted right now and I would do it. It doesn't matter how crazy. I just - I need you. I need this. I need to be close to you and I need to feel you and make you happy and whatever it is, please, just do it -"

I reached out and caught his jaw in the turn of my fingers. Not hard enough to hurt; just to let him know I was there. He closed his eyes and took a shaky inhale and I waited until he looked at me again.

"Hey," I said, softly, willing my hands to keep steady.

"Hey," he said, with an overwhelmed little half-smile. "Are you going to..." He trailed off, and I don't think either of us knew where it was going.

"No, darlin'. I'm not."  _Whatever it is, I'm not._

His eyes got big, and I could see him scrambling for the right words. "Is... I'm so sorry, I knew I didn't deserve this, and I'm such a wreck, I'm all tangled up."

_Ahh. Now we're getting somewhere._

I smiled. "I can tell. And that's okay. But don't you dare talk about not  _deserving_ to ask for what you want in my house again. That's not how this works."

His exhale was loud, almost dramatic in the quiet.  _Relief._  I kept talking, knowing in my chest that I had to roll it all up somehow, wrap it around him like a blanket. Make him understand how safe and adored he was. "I don't take 'whatever you want' as an answer. Not the first time. Not like this."

"I like it when you touch me," he blurted out. "Don't take it away from me, not tonight. Let me know you're there."

I pulled his legs across my lap, shifting my weight to hold the big man as close as I could. He leaned his head into my shoulder. "I won't," I murmured, stroking his hair. "Nothing fancy. No deprivation. Couldn't keep my hands off you at this point if I tried." I gave him our third kiss, a careful, soft peck that softened his edges even more. "Three. Give me three things. Two more."

He nuzzled back. "I like it when you talk to me. Tell me what you're doing. What you want to be doing. Whether or not I'm making you happy."

"Done. What's the third? You can keep going on after that if you want, but I suggest at least three." 

No hesitation. "I want to get you off."

_Fucking hell._  This was where shit got weird for me most of the time. I didn't usually even get naked during sex - top's privilege, I guess you could call it, is that you can do unspeakably wonderful things to your partner or partners, reduce them to a quivering wreck, and not have to worry about things like "How do I feel about what's in my pants today, and how do I want people to interact with it?"  _And what to do when they don't listen_. 

So lost in my own bullshit, I almost missed his soft question: "What's yours?"

I answered, almost without thinking, "Easy. I want to pin you down, put my hands on you or maybe in you, and make you come until you forget your own name." He shivered, and I tried to forge carefully on. "I don't know about your number 3 just yet, but we'll check in on it later, sound alright to you?"

He nodded. "All of that. Just your fingers in me? Because I want that, I want that, but if you want more, we can."

"I don't fuck the first time, gorgeous. Not like that, anyway. It's the downside of not having nerve endings in my dick." I tried to keep my voice light. 

His gaze dropped a little. "I don't want to disappoint you.”

_There it is._

"Is that what you think will happen if you don't give it all up at once?" I cupped his face in my hands and let his eyes tell the story.  "Sweet thing. I want all of you, but if it's alright with you, I'm gonna act like I've got all the time in the world to get it, and take the chance to feel you lose it around my fingers first, at minimum. If you're still here in the morning, maybe I'll wreck you. If you ask nicely."  _Boy, you sound awful confident for a guy who has no idea whether or not he'll wake up alone._

"Speaking of that." He tilted his head a little, and blushed. "I've never... I don't... Tell me what to do with you. Is it just, like, all silicone all the time, or can I touch... Fuck, this is really rude and stupid." 

"Nah, rude and stupid is not asking and making assumptions. You're doing a perfectly acceptable job. The answer is that I don't know just yet; some people, I want to touch me, and some I don't, and some only in a particular way. Put your hands on me, by all means, but I haven't taken my clothes off for anybody in a while and I'm not packing tonight, so can I let you know?" 

"Please." He moved his face close to mine again, pulling himself a little further onto my lap. "I feel so lucky just to be here."

"You're gonna be the death of me."

"But not until after tonight, right?" His face was so  _serious_ that I couldn't help my laugh, and he lit up as I kissed the tip of his nose. 

"You're not the only one who's glad to be here," I said, and kissed his nose again. "But a very large part of me wants to, if you're amenable, drag you off this couch by your hair and put you in my bed. What do you think about that?"

"Yes, sir," he gasped, reverent and brave.

My heart swelled and so did my confidence, and I reached for the nape of his neck with a careful hand. When I dug my fingers in, he slipped quickly off my lap and tumbled to his knees at my side, looking up with wide, desperate eyes. 

I led him into the bedroom, and he went gladly. 

"Lay back for me," I whispered, surprised by the hoarseness of my own voice as I climbed between his legs and leaned in for a kiss, gently running my fingers down his chest. “Do you want this? I can stop anytime." Something occurred to me. "I won't be the least bit disappointed." 

He swallowed, hard, and propped himself up on his elbows. "I want this. I want  _you._ ”

_Want_. It took everything in my power not to mutter,  _Good boy._  I thought it instead, thought it as hard as I could in case he needed to know. I was pretty sure he needed to know. But not yet. 

I pulled his soft t-shirt over his head, carefully avoiding tangling it in his hair. He reached for my shirt, but I dropped down between his legs, fumbling at the zipper of his jeans with my teeth while my fingers slowly unhooked the button.

_To want._  I teased only my fingertips inside the waistband of his boxers, trying to memorize every sensitive spot as he rolled his hips up for more. "Look at you," I crooned, not sure where all this confidence was coming from, someplace deep inside, but not about to question it, either. "So  _starved_ for this. It's not fair, is it?" I smiled a little at my own words. Talk the game until you feel the game, and I'm fucking  _feeling_  something, that's for sure.

Kenny gasped. " _Not_ fair. It's not fucking fair. You should be the one feeling this good when I touch you -"

_To be wanted._  "What makes you so sure? Maybe I've got a great poker face. Maybe I don't even need it."

"Liar," he exhaled. "You're fuck- fucking  _terrible."_

"Well, that's true," I drawled, continuing to trace light patterns with my fingertips over his increasingly exposed hipbones. I spoke into the skin of his legs, his stomach, and felt him thrum underneath my hands. "And since that is in fact the case, I'm certain you know loud and clear what your falling-apart is  _doing_ to me right now." He bucked into me, skin hot against the fabric of my shirt, and I realized I needed  _that_  more than anything I could possibly imagine. 

I got off the bed and shook my shoulders out, but he sat up and crawled to me. Still on his knees, he reached for me, and I covered his hands with mine and shook my head in a slow  _yes_. I didn't know it was possible to feel so small and so huge at the same time, but the way his eyes locked on me from below made me shake with equal parts fear and tension and  _want want fucking want_.

My shirt had seven buttons. As each one came undone in his fingers, he trailed down the newly-exposed skin to the next. I heard a sigh; _he might actually be enjoying this._ I smiled at him, ducked my head down and kissed his fingers. He faced me then, big eyes looking home, not even acknowledging his hands.

As the last button fell open, so did I, so did he. I saw him small and anxious, feigning calm and begging for approval; he saw me fearless, placid, explosive with understanding.

And. Um. Horrendously, ineloquently turned-on.

He delicately pulled the shirt off my arms, and his mouth, like the rest of him, was quiet and precise, skating over my scar tissue without fixating on it. 

"Fuck, Will," he breathed into my chest, causing me to shudder. "You're so fucking  _handsome._ Thank you for making me so lucky."

And just this once I agreed - I didn't cringe or cross my arms over my chest. I just tilted my head down and kissed him. 

Instinct kicked in, the urge to feel him took over, and I nudged him onto his back, climbing on top for a kiss that made both of us gasp at the heat between our bodies. When I could move again, I rolled off to the side and started mouthing my way down his stomach, aiming for the waistband of his open jeans. 

I took a deep breath.  _Tell me what you're doing. What you want to be doing._

"Show me you're my kind of boy. Lie here and take it while I take you apart,  _piece_ by  _piece_  by  _piece_." I emphasized the phrasing with careful, cautious nips along the sensitive flesh, and he exhaled with a filthy noise. I found myself reaching up, drumming my fingers on his collarbones, doing whatever I could to keep at least one hand on him at all times. 

God, he felt so good underneath me, testing my edges, seeing how far I could take him. He was so precise, so careful in daylight, and it only made those hooded eyes and that lack of caution a thousand times more beautiful.  _He trusts me. He's letting go for me._ I pressed down on his chest, just a bit, and he writhed harder. 

"Oh my god, Will, you're so fucking good to me, I don't deserve this,  _fuck -_ "

I gently dug my fingertips into his bare chest. He arched into my hand and I slid it down and around to the small of his back, other hand gently grasping his cock through his shorts. "You deserve this because I  _said_ so. Didn't we talk about this? About  _don't deserve?_ " I announced lightly. He groaned and twisted his hips up into my hand, and I leaned a little more weight across him before he accidentally threw me off the bed or some shit.

When I finally let go, it was because he'd reached down and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, easing them down. I moved up as he lifted his hips and stripped entirely, and drew in a long, appreciative breath at the sight. I reached for his face again, for some reason just now pondering the contrast between my dark hands and his lightly tanned skin, and he caught my right wrist and kissed the small triangle tattooed on the inside. 

I knew it was the time for careful steps. This wonderful, cocky, sweet, goofy nerd was offering himself up at his most vulnerable, and all I could think was,  _Tell him. He has to know. Whatever it is. Make sure he knows._

"You're so fucking beautiful," I rasped, my voice dropped and husky. His eyes snapped open and fixed on mine in a way that told me  _Say that again,_ so I did. "You're  _so_  fucking beautiful." All I wanted was to touch him, somehow everywhere at once, and I did the best I could until he pulled me in for a kiss that pressed the whole front of his body against me. That paradoxical mix of warm and soft and hard made my hands shake, and when we parted, I realized there was a wet spot on the front of my jeans that sure wasn’t all from me. I thumbed over the head of his cock while he kissed me again and then I wasn't the only one shaking any longer. 

When I finally made my way between his legs again, the first thing that struck me was how  _willing_ he was, moving at the slightest touch. So fucking strong but so fucking pliable. I kissed up his legs, and when my mouth finally touched his cock, I expected him to jolt off the bed. Instead, he sank, curling his hips up towards me and spreading himself even wider. I wrapped one arm around his muscular thigh and used the other hand to cup his balls as I kissed and licked my way over the hard length, not committing to anything in particular, just tasting and closing my eyes at the heavenly softness of skin. That in turn only coiled him up further, and my fingers stroked him open as my other hand let go long enough to reach for the lube on the nightstand.

I slicked up the fingers of my left hand, and coiled them into a loose fist, making sure they were warm with my breath before hooking his thigh in the crook of my right elbow and gently placing it over my shoulder. I reached between his legs, and as soon as one of those wet fingers touched him  _right fucking there_ he sucked in a breath so deep it almost made me laugh. Fuck, it felt good to be so wanted. And all I wanted to do in return was tease.

That's my favorite fucking _part_ of fucking - running a wet fingertip or two just along the edges of their entrance, feeling them expand and contract, doing nothing more than carefully being present until their body screams at me with need. When you could tell they'd just reach out and take you if they could, but they can't, so instead they just open, and open, and beg for it with their body until their mouth catches up and asks and you know they ache from deep in their core. 

When I looked up from between his legs, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock in the process, I smiled at his half-closed eyes, blissed-out face. "You ready for me?" He nodded, and I decided that wasn't gonna cut it. "Say it, please."

Those soft lashes fluttered a few times and he nodded again. "Fuck. Need you. Need you."

I pulled away for a second to add more lube to both hands, and he groaned. When I replaced my fingers, I'd barely ghosted over his hole before I felt him relax into me and I pressed one in, so slowly it was threatening to cramp up my forearm until I made a concerted effort to relax my own damn self. I tucked my knees underneath me, adding leisurely strokes to his cock along the way. 

He kept asking for more, with his words and with his body, and once I was sure he was ready, I kept giving it to him, adding fingers, letting his body shape the position of mine as he thrust his cock into my other hand. He bore down on me, heat and muscle and  _oh there you are, **there**  you are, just out of reach of my short fingers, but we'll get there, I think._ My jaw ached and I realized I was so focused on him that I'd been grinding my teeth. 

"What a good fucking boy you are, Ken." It was out of my mouth before I could stop it, but almost instantly he pressed himself down harder on my fingers and nodded furiously.  _There's the fucking spot._  "Good boy taking three of my fucking fingers like they're nothing. I love the way you feel around me, all tight and wet." I curled my left hand, stroking his prostate gently, and he cried out wordlessly, fucking into my right even more intensely than before. "Good fucking boy is gonna come on my fingers, ain't you?" 

He nodded again, and I shook my head and knelt up between his legs, not stopping. "Use your words. I wanna hear about it. Feels good? Doesn't hurt?"

He was breathing heavy and hard, desperately reaching to cup the back of my head. "Fuck, Will, this is so  _fucking_ amazing _._ Doesn't hurt, never hurts, you never hurt me, you're so fucking  _kind_ and I'm so fucking yours and -holy  _god."_

I ducked out of his hand and took his cock in my mouth again, stopping him in mid-sentence. He came almost within seconds with a cry and some gritted curses, the heat of his asshole in spasm around my fingers, and I let him thrust into the back of my throat until his body quieted. I swallowed, carefully extricated myself, realized I was lightheaded.  _Holy shit. That's so fucking hot. I could... yeah, I could do that a lot._

He pulled me on top of him, and I went more than willingly, grabbing a paper towel off the nightstand to wipe off my hands. Getting him off had really gotten me riled in a way that drained the tension out of my body, and it felt fucking good. It felt fucking glorious.

We just laid there in comfortable quiet for a few moments, and his breathing deepened to the point where I almost thought he'd fallen asleep. I rolled onto my side, kissed him softly, and then knelt up, ready to step backwards off the far side of the bed into the space between it and the wall. I already had one hand brushing the paint when  _Oh god. Oh god. He's got his hands on my hips, he's reaching for my... fuck._

"You know what you're getting into, right?" My voice shook. I wanted to puke. I hated this conversation. Telling people how to touch me when I didn't always know.

Kenny cocked his head and looked up at me as he fumbled with the buttons on my fly. "Your pants, if I'm lucky enough." Then he looked up at me with hooded eyes and cupped my cunt through my jeans. I vaguely thought it felt strange before remembering I didn't pack tonight, and then I completely forgot how to think at all as the pressure of his hand sent stars through my cunt and up my spine until they were rattling around my skull. 

"You - I don't - I'm not -"

He smiled, all soft voice and doe eyes. "Will. Please. As cute as you are when you're speechless, all I want is to make you feel good. And  _safe_. Whatever you need in order to make that happen, even if it's stopping right now, not touching you at all. Can you talk to me about that?" God help me, he rested his cheek on my fucking thigh again, like he had last night, looked up at me through that mane of curls again, and oh  _hell_. I reached down and began gently grazing his cheek with my fingertips. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into my hand, so fucking close to me, adding, "You smell so damn good. You're a fucking prince.  _My_ fucking prince."

_Hell_. For all I could run my words at him until the sun came up, I was still cotton-mouthed. 

"Should I keep talking?" His voice shivered a little, too, and for some reason that gave me more confidence.  _You're not the only one who doesn't know what to do. You're not the only one who's at least a little scared._

"God, don't ever  _stop_ talking."

"I want you, Will. I love y-your body and anything I get to do to make you feel good is a dream come true. I'm glad for everything I get." He looked up at me and I could swear his eyes were watery. 

"Keep going, please." He smiled and I tried to breathe out some of the tension with my words. "Just... Just ask me for it, okay?" 

"Please let me suck your cock. Is that the right way to ask? I want to go down on you." Even the warmth of his breath over my shorts was nearly too much. 

I threw my head back and bit my lip hard, a starburst of pain trickling through the fog. "Yes, yes,  _fuck_  yes." I couldn't tell you the last time I let somebody put their face between my legs, but damned if I wasn't soaking wet at the prospect. Of him. Fucking hell, of  _him_. 

He tugged my opened jeans down just far enough, and my shorts followed. He moved himself to the edge of the bed, trailing kisses down my torso as I gave a quick silent thanks to the wall for, you know, existing and continuing to hold me up. I was so fucking wet it was running down my legs  _what the fuck is happening this never happens anymore you're such a mess_  and I knew on some far plane of existence I should probably be self-conscious but couldn't snap myself out of it hard enough to care.

I looked down into those fucking  _eyes_ and my brain chose that exact moment to remind me that, as I learned from a book on plane crashes, hypoxia can result in the onset of halluciations sometimes in as little as ten to fifteen seconds  _oh shut the fuck up you're not actually dying. It just **feels**  like you can't breathe. why are you like this. _

That's about when it occurred to me that he was talking. Words were being formed.  _Holy shit, I should probably figure out what they are._  

"You still with me, handsome?"

"Technically?" I squeaked, and managed a weak nod to go with it. 

Kenny cut loose a grin that was downright roguish before his face softened into seriousness again. "Can I be inside you?"

I inhaled sharply.  _Yes. No. I have no fucking clue. I should probably hate this but I don't because it's you and you're so fucking soft and careful and and and I'm so not ready for any of this._ "Not this time," I said, quietly. "Not this time. I haven't done... that. In a while. And I don't know if I can handle it right now. Like, on any level." 

I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for him to pull back, to apologize too much, to know that I fucking ruined it, that the moment was over. Instead, I almost jumped out of my skin when something warm and wet flitted across my legs. No teeth, no words, just lips and tongue as I sank back into the wall, a fresh wave of safe heat crashing over my skin and raking its fingers through my hair. He licked his way carefully up my inner thighs, one big hand almost covering the tattoo on my quad, and when he reached the trimmed hair at my apex, he pulled away for a brief moment and I glanced at him again. I'd forgotten what it was like to have somebody look at me like that, especially from between my thighs, and I got dizzy all over again as he positioned himself on the edge of the bed. 

"Holy  _shit_ you taste good," he gasped, wiping his mouth with his thumb and licking it off. "I'm gonna... yeah?"

"Yeah. Please." 

He reached up, caught my hand, and brought it down into his sweaty hair. My other hand felt like it was nailed to the wall, and I was digging in with my fingertips almost hard enough to hurt. "Tell me if I'm doing it wrong, okay? I'm gonna be careful but if you don't like where my face is or what it's doing, just fucking put me where I  _should_  be, okay?"

" _Please._  Trust me, I like where your face is." 

He picked up a little half-smirk at the desperation. "My fucking prince." 

He took a long, slow taste of me, and I saw stars before he even started in earnest. Jeans still tight around my thighs, trying so hard to remember to breathe and not punch a hole on the wall or pull too hard on his hair or collapse. And yet, in spite of what I expected to happen, I actually felt myself  _relax,_ and every time I exhaled, he dug in further and little sparklers of pleasure pinged every part of my core. This was... this was fucking incredible. I dared myself to glance down and realized he had closed his eyes, focused wholly on me, gently making his way with his hands and his mouth, a smile playing at the corners, and maybe for the first time in my entire life, I didn't want to blush or hide away.

I realized I'd frozen in place, terrified that even the slightest movement would somehow bump me out of what was clearly the most wonderful dream, when he opened his eyes and _looked_ at me again. I don't remember coming. I don't remember  _not_ coming. I remember fuzziness and static and some sort of magnificent rolling jolt that ran through my body for far, far longer than I could hold my breath. I wanted to revel in it. I wanted Polaroids of it to use as bookmarks. I wanted to picture this like crystal and taste it like honey every time I couldn't look myself in the mirror. 

_No matter what happens, no matter what fucking happens, you have this. You have him, at least for right now._

He sat up on the edge of the bed and I collapsed into his arms, limp and useless. He let me rest there for several long minutes before I found myself long enough to mutter, "Thank god you're so fucking strong. That might've killed a lesser man." 

His laughter rolled off the ceiling for a wonderful moment before he laid me back on the bed and started to work my jeans and boxers the rest of the way down my sweaty legs. When he finished, he bit his lip and touched my forehead like he was checking for a fever, and I pulled him in for a soft kiss. 

"Can I pick you up? I know you hate it when people don't ask." 

I blinked at him several times. 

"You tweeted about it once. If I remember correctly, you punched the guy." The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Now," he continued grandly, "Are you getting to the shower on your own, or may I offer my assistance?"

"You're gonna have to hold me up the entire time, too." I closed my eyes. 

"Fair trade if you wash my hair. Is that a yes?"

I nodded. Smiled. Tried to prop myself up on my elbows. Failed miserably. Realized I was still smiling. My face was starting to hurt. 

"Yeah, I'm gonna need a little help here." 

 

_in endless streams of play,  
you heal the wounds of my arising  
with that softening touch of skin  
where i leave off and you begin_  
_i am a stick, and i am happy._  

 


	5. hold on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Cuddles and fluff and more porn, as you do. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Soundtrack: Tim Armstrong - A Poet's Life - "Hold On"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=modmuWBssl4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm taking a new approach to the next few chapters, which is that they will be shorter but more frequent (basically, more like Safe Inside the Day and less like Sublimation). While working on chapter 4, I accidentally deleted half of that and the entirety of everything that came after it, and trying to rebuild it all has been an absolute nightmare. I think producing shorter (for me, anyway - like, 2-3k words instead of 6k, haha) bits that are basically just one "scene" at a time will be less stressful because I don't have to handle every plot thread at once, and also means y'all won't have to wait like two months for an update, which makes me feel better too. (the next part will be out probably in the next week or so.) 
> 
> Apologies for the long delay - I don't usually get writer's block like this but a bunch of factors came together that left me a little bit stuck. The good news(?!) is that this is officially going to become a series/collection in the future because a bunch of things have come up in this universe and in related universes and I'm playing with tying it all together. More info about that to come! 
> 
> Again, I can't say it enough times, thank you everyone for your comments and messages (hit me up on Tumblr @ the same username if you wanna).

I don't think man has ever invented a worse time to be awake than 5am. The witching hour is over, the day hasn't really started, it's too early to get up and too late to loaf. 

"Ugh, fuck off, asshole," I hissed at my phone for daring to deliver the bad news when I woke up with a numb shoulder from whatever awkward position I'd crashed into immediately after showering. 

Behind me, a big warm bundle of blankets shifted and I heard a mumble. "Am I that bad in bed?" 

"Shit. You're still here." I resisted the urge to clap my hands over my mouth like a cartoon. My stomach hurt and I didn't know why. That's the other problem with 5am; everything's a little surreal. 

More mumbling. My best translation was something along the lines of, "The fuck else would I be?" 

"Fair enough. Smartass." 

The covers shifted again and a thick arm wrapped around my waist. "Holy fuck, you're so cold."

"Because you stole all the blankets, nerd." I nuzzled back into him and heard a relaxed sigh. My stomach let go a little. _He's still here. He saw me for who I was and he's still here._ Part of my brain grouched that I grow a pair and lean on standards maybe a little bit higher than 'Didn't run away screaming,' but hell, I had to start somewhere. "You're lucky this is my telecommute day so I don't have to get up until, like, 8:55."

"Does that mean you don't have to wear pants, either?" His voice on the back of my neck sent waves of  _something_ skittering down my spine, and I writhed and pulled the corner of the blanket over me. 

"That's part of the appeal, yeah." I never got to be the little spoon. A guy could get used to this shit. 

But not too used to it, because I  _really_  had to pee. And probably brush my teeth. 

I looked like a special flavor of hell in the bathroom mirror. Hair sticking up at all angles, face puffy. As I splashed myself down with some cold water and cleaned off the toothpaste remnants, a fluffy-haired angel appeared behind my reflection, and leaned down to rest his chin on my shoulder and kiss my ear briefly while grabbing for his own toothbrush. I pecked him on the cheek before slipping out of the bathroom to let him do his thing.

When I got back into bed, I forgot for a minute that I wasn't alone, and let out an obnoxious groan at the pockets of warmth underneath the blankets. "Fuckin' A, man. This is the life." I rolled around and stretched out before closing my eyes, only to be jolted back to reality when a big warm body settled itself on top of me, peppering my face with soft kisses. I most definitely did not let out a squeak of surprise. No, sir. 

"I may hog the blankets, but you stole the entire damn bed," Kenny grumbled into my neck. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and in one quick motion shifted my weight and sprawled just right to flip him onto his back next to me. My old jiu jitsu coach would've been...  _proud_ is not exactly the word. 

"Oh come on," he teased, turning onto his side to kiss me. "Don't go easy, now. You could've tossed me right out to the floor. I'm a professional, after all."

I scoffed. "Yeah, and probably knocked your ass out on the drywall in the process. Nothing in that for me.  _Or_ you."

"Fine, have it your way." He sounded downright petulant, and I couldn't help the laughter bubbling up as I kissed along his jawline. 

"You wanna get roughed up, that's one thing. I did offer to wreck you, after all." I was mostly joking, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I caught the struggle as it flashed across his face. 

He took in a quiet gasp, but wriggled closer. "Maybe... Maybe take it slow?" There it was again. That tone, like he expected me to be disappointed. 

Even as I hauled him in by a handful of curls, the resulting kiss was as gentle and tender as I could make it. "Not having that shit. Not gonna hurt you," I murmured, barely aware the words had made it from brain to mouth. "Never gonna hurt you. Not like that. Remember what you told me last night?"

He nodded, but didn't speak. He was hard as hell against my thigh, though, and his eyes were open big. 

"You ready to handle me? You want to?" I half-whispered, and I felt the goosebumps form as I ran my fingertips over his upper arms. 

When he finally spoke up, it was hesitant and laced with equal parts anxiety and need. "It- it depends on what you've got."

I rolled over to dig through the nightstand and came out with my small bag, which dropped heavily onto the mattress between our bodies. As I opened the zipper, I grinned, "Honey, I've got  _options._ " And I sure as shit did - I tried to keep the collection under control, but it was largely an exercise in futility. "If you wanna get fucked until the sun comes up, you tell me what you think fits you best, and you can  _always_  change your mind." 

Kenny looked like he was caught between fear and Christmas morning as he dug through, finally settling on a slightly slimmer, tapered number that had actually been either the first or second cock I ever bought. It was pink and a little bit sparkly. 

"Is that okay? I know it's not. Um. The biggest. I don't get...  _fucked_  a lot. Except by myself." That last admission was close to involuntary, if the less-sparkly-but-still-pink on his cheeks was any indicator.

"And why's that?" I asked, mostly rhetorically. "Big, strong, confident man with a pretty face and a beautiful cock, everyone asks you to fuck 'em until they can't move?" I traced my thumb over his lower lip as he nodded into my hand. 

"I mean, I don't mind it. It's just..." He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. 

"Love." I breathed out, and his eyes slipped up to mine again. "In my house, it ain't about what you can  _tolerate,_ in the same way that it ain't about what you  _don't_   _deserve._ It's about what you want, what's gonna soothe that fucking ache in your stomach. What's gonna take it out of you and leave you a shivering wreck. Besides," I added with a smirk, "It's not very nice to talk about my cock like that." 

He turned even redder and apologized over and over until I quieted him with a kiss. "Hey. 'M just teasing. I'm sorry. The fun thing about all this is that nobody can win a dick-waving contest with me because I've got all my bases covered." 

"How are you Prince Fucking Charming when it comes to filth but you can't string a sentence together the rest of the time?" 

I huffed. "How are  _you_ more confident jumping off a goddamn barricade than you are in asking me to fuck you?"

I stepped back off the bed to pull my harness on and up, and he made the neediest little sounds in the back of his throat as he reached for the soft fabric of the boxer briefs. "I've never seen one of these before. Only the jockstrap ones." He felt the O-ring sewn in behind the fly, and I gently nudged his fingers out of the way as I slipped my cock through until the flared base caught securely. 

"Yeah, me too, but that was too much exposure back in the day. Friend of mine suggested these and I couldn't be happier. Plus they hide really well under regular clothes." I finished adjusting myself and winked at him, and I could see the gears turning. "What's on your mind, sugar?"

"Can I suck you off while you put your fingers in me?" 

An emotion I can only describe as  _pride_ (and, okay, an enormous amount of arousal) crossed my face. "Look at you, asking for what you want. Absolutely. Hand me the lube?" 

As soon as I had the bottle in hand, he was on me, licking a stripe along my cock before glancing up at my face through soft eyelashes. I sucked in a deep breath. This - this - this felt like the culmination of half a lifetime's worth of something, from that first moment when I looked down at my body and realized what I wished it were, what I wished I could do and be and feel. Didn't even realize my eyes were closed until those needy little sounds again, now reverberating through me, snapped them open, and I drizzled some lube onto my fingers and breathed on them before reaching for him. He'd rolled onto his side, taking as much of me as he could while still giving me access to the rest of him, and it struck me again how fucking _pliable_ he was. How relaxed. Pressing my fingers in further, I murmured my appreciation, something exhaustedly incoherent about how beautiful he looked in the dim light, something about how I was gonna rail the air right out of his lungs, something about how  _good_  he was, and he responded by groaning around my cock, taking me so deep I could feel the twitches and vibrations and my knees were threatening to dump me right back on the bed. 

After what felt like a lifetime of teasing his ass open, which all on its own was more profoundly satisfying than any one act had the right to be, I ducked down and kissed his muscled shoulder. In turn, he rolled onto his back and I swear to Christ, fucking fluttered his eyelashes at me. He looked like he might sink through the mattress, heavy-lidded and flushed, and when I touched his face with my other hand, waiting to any second wake up alone with a cold bed and a hot, aching body, he instinctively took my first two fingers in his mouth with another of those satisfied groans. One eyebrow picked up slightly, and my thoughts unfogged long enough to realize I should probably be talking instead of _just_ staring. 

This was gonna take some getting used to. 

"Good god, your mouth is a national treasure. Next time I get the chance, I'll just fuck your face until you forget where you are. Just lookin' at you is more than anybody deserves." I added more lube with a few strokes to my dripping cock and looked down at him, and I could have sworn I heard a whimper. Something made me smile, at least. "You ready?"

" _Please._ " 

When I finally settled inside him, I closed my eyes and just waited, telling myself it was to give him a chance to adjust, but knowing it was at least equal parts being too goddamn scared to budge. He was so fucking hot and tight I was pretty sure I could feel it all the way through my body, and it sure as shit didn't hurt to be wrapped up in those big thighs that threatened to tip me over onto him from my knees. 

"I'm gonna fuck you now, is that okay?" I hated the edge of desperation in my voice, the  _whine,_ but if the way he coiled up against me was any indicator, I wasn't the only one who felt it. 

Through gritted teeth, Kenny responded, "Will, if you  _don't_ fuck me, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die." 

The laugh expelled all the nervous air I was holding in my lungs and I loosened my grip on his thighs to lean down for a kiss. I tasted him in my mouth and instinctively curled my hips forward, driving into him just the tiniest bit more before pulling back, fucking him with long, slow strokes. Resting my forehead on his collarbones, I felt his heart pound almost in time with my own pulse on my ears, and suddenly felt terrifically lightheaded. 

Kenny raked his fingertips down my back hard enough to leave heated little trails behind and then wrapped his big hands around my hips, squeezing hard. Little bursts of pain fired off and I said a quiet prayer of thanks for the feeling, for the hope that I would bruise up enough to remember this for days, for everything. 

Then he held on, and rolled over on top of me.

_Fucking hell._

The weight of his body was grinding the base of my dick against my cunt and it was overwhelming almost to the point of embarrassment. 

I realized I was exhaling a constant stream of profanity as he rocked himself down against me. He'd leaned forward to grab the headboard, and the fucking sway of his fucking hair in his fucking face and the way he bit his fucking lip and closed his fucking eyes -   _Jesus_. If he was beautiful on his back, on his knees, with my cock buried in his throat, then the sight of him all eyes-down beatific with the tiniest bits of sunrise haloing through his curls was something the English language didn't make adjectives for, of that I was as certain as my feverish and very distracted brain would allow. 

Not for the first time, I wished I was a bigger man, but for the first time like this, I wished it so I could hook under his shoulders and drag him down on me harder, deeper, anything to give him what I knew he needed. 

Possessiveness, the fun kind, the proud kind, the kind that says _I wanna hold onto you as long as I can_ flushed my cheeks and flooded my veins in one big hit. I tried to force it back, tried to tell myself to shut the fuck up _for all you know he could get up and leave at any second and you know you'd let him go so why do you think these things_ but there were cracks in that last dam and it was eking out no matter how hard I pushed back. 

I felt a hand on my face. He was looking at me. "You okay, handsome?"

I swallowed. Every time I tried to talk, it caught up in my throat and was knocked out of me in senseless noises by how beautiful he looked and felt until he spoke up again. 

"Tell me what you're thinking. Please? And don't tell me that I don't want to know."

I was so fucking helpless, so broken-down at the thought, so incapable of denying him anything even if I'd wanted to. Every little circle, every roll of his hips felt magnified a hundred times over. I reached one hand back to close over his fingers and grabbed his hip with the other. I was shaking, hard enough for him to notice, and he opened his eyes and gave me a look, slowing his pace to something somehow even  _more_ agonizing. 

"Ken, Ken, if you keep doing that I'm gonna fucking lose it, holy shit -" but even as I spoke and realized how  _loud_ I was being, I was still pushing up into him, asking for more and getting it, taking it, loving every second. I couldn't fight it. I had no desire to. "Ken, I fucking want you, that's all it is. I don't want you all to myself but I want you all to myself. I -"

 "- I'm yours," he finished, grinding down hard, and my hand trembled again. "That's what you need to hear?" I nodded. "I don't - I understand. I understand and I want you to and just fucking... _fuck_ do what gets you off, I'm begging."

I reached up and cupped his cheek in one hand, and he smiled without looking up, but then when I fisted his cock in the other, those big eyes shot open and he started to fuck himself on me with a very distinct purpose. 

"Please," he whispered, almost like it wasn't intended for me to hear. "Please." I thumbed his lips again and felt it this time, a whisper of breath. "Please." 

_Please what?_ I wanted to snarl.  _Please don't stop? Please let me come? Please fuck me until I can't hear myself think?_

I wanted to, but I didn't. 

Instead, I just growled, "You're _mine_ ," and watched him shiver. 

Instead, I looked down his body as he fucked himself even harder on my cock, dragging his own between my hand and my stomach, and instead then I looked back up at those eyes, those eyes, those eyes that called to me from miles away, and smiled. 

He came with a stutter and a big, deep breath, letting loose all over my stomach and chest. The spatter of his heat across my body bucked me up, hard, once more, and my eyes opened wide at the sight and sensation.

Looking up at his face as he came was so hot that any remaining threads of control I might have had snapped. I pinned his hips to mine, and he reached down and took my hands but to my surprise didn't pull away, just tangled our fingers as I fucked up into him of my own uncontrollable accord, like I needed to bury my orgasm as deeply in his body as I possibly could. He threw his head back, curls flying with him, and the soft noises he let out were the most tender thing I'd ever heard. 

I was in big trouble. I was a fucking goner. I was gonna do this for the rest of my fucking life. Once I could feel my legs again. 

Kenny let out a groan as he disentangled us, and as I was trying to negotiate getting up without getting come all over the sheets, I felt his delicate fingers in my waistband. "Let me?"

I closed my eyes in bliss as I nodded, feeling him slide the harness down my body. "Just rinse it off and put it on the nightstand, I'll clean up proper later." I heard a small thud as he did that, and then sank into the mattress as he ran a warm washcloth over my stomach and chest. 

When he returned to bed, I wrapped him up tight in my arms, and murmured a sleepy "Thank you" in his ear. 

"No way, thank  _you._ I didn't know you could get off like that. I mean, not that I'm an expert in how you get off." 

"Mmm. It's not, like, normal - something about the pressure of you being on top. Even then, no guarantee. Feels amazing either way, though." I was rambling, and mumbling, as my brain started to drift back off. "But fucking hell, Kenny. You gettin' fucked is the most beautiful thing in the world." 

His face began to heat up against my shoulder. "You really think that?"

"I think you're so wonderful, I'd be the happiest man on earth even if you  _weren't_ spaced the fuck out on my cock for the last... however fuckin' long it's been." 

"What  _would_  you have done if I was terrible in bed?" The boy wasn't even trying to hide his smirk anymore. I could feel it. 

"What would  _you_ have done, smartass? Thrown me out?" I hugged him closer. 

"Oh hush, you." He emphasized his point with a soft kiss. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy." 

"Yeah?" I bit my lip. "Even with my weird shit?"

"You think being possessive in bed is abnormally weird?" 

A length of curly hair fell over my hand, and without really thinking or looking, I split the pieces and started gently weaving them together. "Yes. No? I mean, I've done weirder. A lot weirder."

"No shit."

"But like, you. And it's not me." I cringed as what I guess were technically words left my mouth. 

"Okay, you have _got_ to try that again." 

I finished my braid and started on the next one. Gotta keep them hands busy. "Yeah, I do, because that sucked. I'm fuckin' tired. And saying shit like that to people outside of the occasional dungeon is just not a thing that really comes up. Like I said last night, I don't own you and I don't want to." 

"You just wanna say that you do, because it's the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life and makes perfect sense and I want to hear it just as much?"

My fucking _heart._ I dropped the braid and squeezed him. "Don't fucking toy with me, Kenneth." 

He wriggled playfully. "I'm not, _William_. I get it. And not only that, I like it. Looks good on you. Feels good on me." 

"Promise?" I could barely stifle a giggle, and not just from relief. Sleep deprivation is a hell of a drug. 

"Promise." Kenny cocked his head, and then his gaze shifted so far to the side it was almost uncanny. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Literally no one has ever called me William before except at, like, the doctor's office? I don't know why it's so funny but, oh man." I burst out laughing in earnest as he nuzzled into a particularly ticklish part of my chest, and carefully snagged a few more curls for good measure once I could breathe again. It seemed to soothe us both, and my eyes had drifted mostly closed before he spoke again. 

"Huh. Are you gonna make me guess your middle name? Because we'd be here for a while." 

So I told him. "William Genjiro. After my grandfather. Ain't like I showed you my birth certificate, and thank fuck for that. Hell, I bet most people would guess wrong, now that I think about it. I just never think about it." 

As he looked back and folded himself into my arms again, he murmured sleepily, "I mean. That's got a pretty nice ring to it. I think I see what you did there." He tucked in closer, went to smooth out the blanket, and paused.

"William. Did you _seriously_ just braid my fucking hair?"

 

 

* * *

 

 _before i met you_  
_everything was goin' wrong_  
_it's been a long journey_  
_now i wanna take you home_

 _the future's not ours to see_  
_do what you do_  
_but please don't leave_


	6. man of steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-working, sorta.  
> Will gets some bad news. (cn: indirect/institutional transphobia, discussion of previous drug use.)  
> Then there's a lot of shameless angst and comfort. (There's actually no porn here? Whoa.)
> 
> Confession: this was hard to write. It's a little sad. It gets better, and goofier, in the very near future. 
> 
>  
> 
> [soundtrack - Frank Black - Songs in the Key of X - "Man of Steel"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzc4jBqh90w)

After a nap, a lazy breakfast and a whole lot of coffee, I dragged my laptop out and set it up on the desk in the living room. Kenny shuffled around in his bag behind me, still moving slowly, and I sat down and called over my shoulder, “Go back to bed!”

He closed the distance in a couple of strides and put his warm hands on my shoulders. I grinned and tilted my head back, locking eyes for a moment before he leaned down to gently kiss my forehead.

“Nah, I’m up,” he grumbled against my skin, and I shivered a little. “Might as well amuse myself before my gym date with the boys.” He paused. “I really need to introduce you to Dalton.”

“I don’t know you’ll get me back if you do,” I teased.

“Uh  _huh._ ” He pecked me again and I bumped the back of my head against his torso. Always was a sucker for a forehead kiss. He straightened up and went back to his bag, his hand lingering on the nape of my neck for just long enough to make me close my eyes. “Cool if I use your tv? I brought my console.”

“I guess so, nerd,” I muttered, logging into the VPN and crossing my fingers for a manageable number of unread emails. Seventeen. Alright. Fair enough. I tore a blank piece of paper out of my notebook and started folding with one hand and scrolling with the other.

“How do you not play video games?” Kenny scoffed, untangling a handful of cables.

“Do you want me to share my calendar with you so you can see all the hurry-up-and-wait I don’t have? Because I don’t think you want that.” I turned and tossed the paper airplane I’d made at him. Gently. The resultant flailing and swatting was still enough to almost pitch me out of my chair with laughter.

A few hours later, as I took a break to crack my neck and drink some water, it dawned on me that game ruckus and Canadian swearing was my new favorite form of background noise. Beat the shit out of most of my podcasts, or that website my dad sent me that was supposed to emulate actual coffeeshop chatter. I leaned over the back of the couch, shifted some curls aside, and kissed the nape of Kenny’s neck, and he hummed contentedly. I thought about biting, but didn’t, and the urge faded as quickly as it’d come on.

When I came back from the kitchen, stretching my shoulders out on the doorframe, he’d shut down the game and shuffled over to give me a quick kiss on the nose before grumbling something about the gym.

“Fine, but I’m watching you change, like a creep,” I called to his back as he headed for the bedroom, and he shimmied at me in response before pulling his shirt over his head with a little more drama than was probably necessary. I turned my eyes back to my water glass for  _one second,_ and when I looked back, he had somehow crammed himself into the gloriously heinous shirt I’d gotten as a free handout from last year’s citywide Pride 10K. It was at least two sizes too small – luckily (for him), they’d messed up my order and given me the next size up from the usual, and I tended to like things baggy anyway, but still, thank god for stretch and mesh.

“I’m stealing your stuff,” he announced casually, as though there was a chance he’d coincidentally packed a neon-lime-green technical tee.

“How do you even  _fit_  in my shirts? If I have to cut you out of that, I’m gonna be pissed.” But I was grinning like a fool, and so was he as he turned around and fluffed his hair.

“Really? I assumed you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“No fucking comment. I’d tell you not to ruin it, but I’ve already gotten my money’s worth.” I covered my mouth and gave him a long, appraising glance, shaking my head. No use pretending he didn’t look damn good in my shit, even though it was the dictionary definition of ‘skintight.’ Okay, probably because of that exact thing.

"You sure you don't want to come with us? It's not that far from here."

I shook my head. "Nah. Fight club tonight, anyway. Gotta knock out a few more hours before the tournament."

"Did you seriously just call your MMA class 'fight club'?" He snorted. It was cuter than it had any right to be.

"What? Coach made me promise I'd stop saying 'toxic masculinity improv class.'"

"Why are you like this?" The patented Omega Serious Face was starting to crack a little.

"I ask myself that about four times a day."

 

* * *

 

 

Evening came and found me writhing underneath my best friend's husband, albeit not in the way you perverts are probably imagining. Joe, a wiry Brazilian with great tattoos and even better hair, had about ten inches of reach and nearly thirty-five pounds of wiry muscle on me, and he was a nightmare to trap, which was exactly why -

"I swear you only do this to make your life harder," he wheezed, swinging at me from the top of closed guard.

"Guilty as charged," I grinned, catching his wrist and snapping on my finest available armbar, flailing for a triangle that I absolutely could not reach. He powered out, nearly deadlifting my ass off the floor in the process, although it took a few seconds longer than usual and he looked delightfully pissed about it. Score one for the little guy. But not for too long, since after that he just flopped on top like a dead fish and nailed me with a couple of shots to the ribs.

"You  _douche,_ " I squeaked, punching him back. We'd been at this for god only knows how long and everyone's limbs were like overcooked noodles, so at least the damage wasn't serious.

My lungs burned and I felt like I couldn't possibly fight my way out one more time. So I did, powered by pure spite, bridging high and to the left to knock Joe off me and send him rolling across the mats. He hopped to his feet and offered me a hand. I let him leverage me up and grabbed my water as he smirked. "I still don't understand why you insist on this featherweight shit, dude. You could go to bantam easy and break people in half."

I snorted into my water bottle. "No thanks, brah. Maybe in a few years. It's hard enough to keep my ass in one piece without cutting."

"It  _is_  a nice ass." He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I almost choked. "I would punch you, but I already know you'd enjoy it too much."

He opened his mouth to respond but then glanced over the top of my head out the front window and it quickly became the kind of grin that can pretty much only be described as 'shit-eating.' "Looks like your escort just got here. Looking sharp, too."

I heard the front door open and carefully shut, and turned to see Kenny strolling towards us. He greeted Joe with a handshake and rumpled my sweaty hair, completely failing to hide the smile on his face as I play-swatted his hand away.

 _Damn. He ain't lying._  Kenny had changed into a v-neck and sport coat with what I swore were his only jeans, and maybe it was all the testosterone in the room but the urge to wink, and maybe whistle, was borderline-overwhelming.

The two guys were making small talk about the tournament and Kenny's upcoming match. I realized I was staring, and shotgunned half my water to put the taste back in my very dry mouth. Then I caught the boy around his waist for a quick hug before turning towards the locker room, trying my best not to sweat all over his jacket.

"Yo, Will!" I turned and saw my coach leaning on the door of his office. "Get in here, I gotta talk to you."

"Aight, one second," I called back, and patted Joe's shoulder. "See you Friday?"

"Like I'd miss a chance to see this guy whip ass again," he grinned, tilting his head towards Kenny. "And you, of course. And I  _guess_ , ya know, spending time with my wife is cool too."

"You'd better hope I don't tell her you said that, big man. You'll be watching from the parking lot."

"What's she gonna do, spank me?"

I cackled. "Or she'll just make  _me_  do it." Kenny's face turned pink and I could have sworn I heard a tiny noise. Could've come from the weight room, though. "Besides, you say that, but I've known Pol longer'n you and I think she's still got some tricks up her sleeve."

He grabbed me in a bro-hug and I headed for the office.

The smile dropped off my face in an instant. Coach didn't look so happy. Not at all. I raised an eyebrow, and he just shrugged and shut the door behind me. My fingers drummed out an anxious rhythm on my bare knee and I fiddled with the hem of my A-shirt before tugging my gloves off and setting them in my lap.

Coach coughed and finally spoke. "I just got off the phone with everyone and their mom, starting with the state athletics commission. There's no good fuckin' way to say this: they're telling me that, after reviewing your medical records, the...  _decision_  has been made that you're not allowed to compete this weekend."

All the blood rushed to my ears and I could barely hear the last few words. My face and neck were tingling and numb and I realized I was clenching my fists so tightly the knuckles had turned white.

"What? Why?"

"Hypocritical bullshit is why. Argument one is that you being on added hormones is an unfair advantage. Argument two is that the other fighters will be uncomfortable against somebody they perceive as female. That they might go easy on you."

Perceive as female. Jesus.

I started running my mouth without even being fully aware of what was coming out.  _Not this shit again._ "Seriously? An unfair advantage? I'm, what, six inches shorter than the average for my class but  _I've_  got an unfair advantage? And those guys can perceive me however they want, why the fuck is that my problem?" Trying to keep my voice calm worked for about two and a half words.

He tried to smile but it didn't really come out. "That's what I said. It's bullshit, I think it's bullshit, everyone I know thinks it's bullshit. I'm appealing to the board, but there's no way they'll make a decision in time." He handed me a card and I had to forcibly uncurl my fingers to take it. "I know you  _just_  had bloodwork done, but I know a doc who wants to run some more tests - hormones, muscle mass, all that. As far as I'm concerned, you're well within the parameters of what constitutes normal, but if we can get it in print, that might go a long way."

"Jesus. But what if I wasn't? That doesn't make me any less of a fuckin' man." I buried my face in my hands, fighting the thoughts back as hard as I could. "You of all people know I ain't fragile."

"I know, kid. And if they hadn't seen your birth certificate, they wouldn't have said jack. You're just the poster child right now for dealing with this shit." He leaned forward and patted my shoulder. "Let me take care of this, okay? We'll make it right. Maybe not this weekend, but we'll make it right."

I left his office in a daze and headed for the locker room, almost jumping out of my skin when a big pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. I panicked and shoved them away, and when I turned to look at Kenny, he read my face in an instant.

"What happened? What did he say?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Not now. I'll be back in a few." My voice cracked on the last word, and I gritted my teeth together hard enough to hurt.

I brought my bag into the showers so I could change in private and cried under the water, quietly, forehead and fingertips pressed to the tile, hoping no one would hear.

_Not enough. Never fucking enough. Y'ain't never gonna **be**  enough._

That rude little fucker in my head was back from his very short vacation.

When I came back out, my stomach churned at the sight of Kenny and my coach talking against the wall. Then I heard coach say, with a sigh, "If he wants you to know what's going on, he can fuckin' tell you his-fuckin'-self."

God, I love that man.

"Hey," I mumbled, my voice half-shot. Kenny turned around, looking white as a sheet. "Let's get out of here."

 

* * *

 

 _under the stars each night_  
_i wonder do stairs go there_  
_im lonely driving behind the wheel_

 _can't get nowhere_  
_i can't seem to get it right_  
_i'm only just a man of steel_

_is there a place?_

I told him everything on the walk home, wet hair falling in my eyes as I stared down the cracks in the sidewalks. Warm hands clasped over mine until I finally let go of my bag and Kenny threw it over his shoulder. The only thing keeping me grounded was his arm around my waist. Managed to hold it together until we got back to the apartment, although it was a pretty close call; my hands shook enough to stick on the deadbolt.  

The kitchen table did a hell of a job bracing my weight, only complaining a little when I nearly collapsed onto the chair. To my surprise, Kenny sat at my feet, wrapping his arms around my legs and resting his face just above my knee. The only thing I wanted was to bury my face in his hair until this all went away, but my head felt so fucking heavy that I just dropped it on my arms on the Formica. I was shivering, and the tears were running down, but I refused to acknowledge I was crying until he reached up and brushed them away.

It was a long time before he spoke, voice low and warm. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with this right now. Or ever. How can I help?" 

I shrugged, which just let loose another volley of tears. My eyes were rubbed raw and exhausted, and I was covered in a thin layer of clammy sweat. "There's nothing anybody can do. I'm just so fuckin' tired of not being enough. It's always something. Not even this specific bullshit but the... the fuckin' combined weight of everything that's happened. The ugly shit you were lucky enough not to be here for that slams me all at once on nights like this." I thumped my fist against my bruised chest. 

“Well, I –“ Kenny's breath hitched at that, and even though I knew it was probably involuntary, the wave of guilt and grief rising from the depths of a lifetime's fear and anxiety choked the words up like so much bile.

I cut him off without actually meaning to. "I'm so fuckin' sorry. You deserve better than some trash fuckin' junkie. I know I'm an embarrassment. Fuckin' freakshow."

There was a very long moment of careful silence. "Who told you that?" Kenny's words, surprisingly mild in their tone, stopped my mouth in its tracks, but not the panic. I couldn't tear away from an intense staredown with the edge of the table, but I knew he was looking at me, and tried to force a breath.

"Do you really wanna know?" My teeth hurt. My  _bones_  hurt. Like my ribcage was getting smaller by the second.

That precise, kind voice again. "Do you want to tell me? You don't have to." 

_How. How the fuck do you know? How do you walk into arms' reach and then just stop, and wait, and exist right where I need you until I'm ready to reach out? How do you always end up in just the right orbit?_

After an eternity, I picked my hands up and gripped the table. "I had this girlfriend. Fiancée, actually. She knew... she knew. And it was fine, totally fine, she said, but it wasn't. So when I came out, she'd deadname me and shit. To strangers, our friends. It made her so angry. When she left me” – the curl of my lip was involuntary, as though I could scare away some invisible aggressor by snarling like a seven-footer – “She said it was my fault because I was an  _embarrassment_  - couldn't be a girl anymore and I sure as shit wasn’t a real man. Like I didn't hear that shit in my own _head_ more days than not. And that's the last five-plus years, to one degree or another." My hands were tingling and I knew I was making very little sense but talking kept me from crying so I let it go. "Right about then, I got real fucked-up; I drank too much before then and had a real bad taste for a few other things that made it easier to close my eyes at night but after she left, I gave the fuck up. And yeah I fuckin' cleaned up, you knew that, but it wasn't like the sun just came back out. I lost my job, most of my friends, and my goddamn mind, and no matter how hard I push, there's always gonna be some shit like this trying to pull the rug out."  

I realized he was looking at me still with some sort of rapt attention that I most definitely didn't deserve, and laughed harshly. "You know some weeks I can't do my own T shots? I gotta call Polly or my fuckin’ NP to help me, because putting even an IM needle in my damn leg sets me thinking.” I trailed off before it got started all over again. “This isn't the worst day, not by a long shot, and it sure as shit don't warrant me acting like this.  _Shit_ , just finding a trainer who would let me in his locker room took like two years. I'm honestly shocked anybody put my name in for this tournament in the first place."

" _I'm_  not," he said quietly. "I'm not at all. You work your ass off for what you've got, and you deserve ten times better. Maybe it’s not the worst day, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel bad that it absolutely fucking sucks."

I didn’t understand him. I didn’t understand why he was still here, all creased edges and conscientiousness and every last thing in his life able to stand up to scrutiny that would have broken me down within days even after all these years of throwing myself out there as hard as I could. But there he was, with his ass parked on the stupid linoleum in my stupid kitchen, looking all flawless and serene in the stupid light through the stupid window.

Then he reached up, brushed some half-dried hair off my sticky forehead, and I felt it – the slightest tremble in those sure hands – and damned if it didn’t hit me like a haymaker: _He hurts when you hurt. Because you hurt. Maybe not as much, at least not that he shows, but he ain’t here to be your ascetic, tapping out piecemeal affection._

I ducked down and threw my arms around him, greedy and childish as it felt, gaining whatever I could from being cheek to cheek. His voice resonated through his chest and in my ear, and in an instant I was jerked back to just a few days ago, that first act of affection that now felt so normalized. Normal. That thing my guts told me to stop hoping for, stop waiting for, stop needing.

"You..." His voice was heavy but strong, the words clipped neatly out. "I know what pain feels like, but not like this. I don't know if I could handle it if I did. But I do know that you, me,  _we_  are more than what we carry. We are more than what's been left behind, or what has left us behind, or what was clawed out of us along the way. Especially you. I can’t sit here and spout bullshit about how everything’s going to be fine someday, because that’s just disrespectful and goddamn frivolous, but I can’t see how anything in the world stands a chance against you. You deserve fine. You deserve much, much  _more_  than fine.”

"I sure do hope you're right." 

I felt him shift on the floor, and he sat back a little and kissed my knee. "Let me take care of you, okay?”

Reaching down, I patted his hair without looking, self-conscious all over again. Everything ached and my mouth tasted like asphalt. "I'm not really in the mood, hon. I'm sorry."

"Not like  _that,_ Will. I mean, unless you're really into it, but that seems somewhat unlikely." I glanced over, expecting him to laugh, but instead he just draped a hand over my thigh. "Let me fuss over you. I can’t carry the big weight, but maybe I can back you up a little for when the time comes.”

The kettle clicked on; he'd reached over and done it without taking his other hand off my leg. Something about that just drained me dry, and I slumped over on him, smelling sweat and shampoo and stale air. He patted my side, asking permission, and when I nodded, still wobbly, he scooped me up and walked to the living room, gently depositing me on the couch and popping off my sneakers. 

I must have eyes-open dozed or just numbed out, brought back home by the hot water turning itself off. Returning to earth was usually a hell of a lot more disorienting. He'd tucked me into a nest of blankets, and when I picked my head up to see him return with a couple of steaming mugs, I realized he'd quietly turned on reruns of  _Too Cute._ I sat up a little ways to take the tea from him, and he snuggled in close as a litter of impossibly tiny puppies with closed eyes and soft triangle ears wiggled across the TV screen. Wait… were those  _turtles_ with them?

"I can always put on X-Files instead if you want," he offered, draping an arm over my shoulders. “Or do you just want to go to bed? I’m trying not to overwhelm you with decisions, but you’re always welcome to keep me in line.”

"I'm never letting you go back to Tokyo, you know that?" I said, with hopefully enough dramatic inflection to be funny instead of weird. Jury’s still out, but at least he smiled.

He just kept touching me, talking in wordless reassuring silence, and if I closed my eyes I could feel the twitchy energy pooling right beneath the skin, pulled out and apart by his fingers. My jaw unclenched, but the rest of my body trying to follow suit was the textbook definition of too much, too soon, flooding me with shame and embarrassment all over again. Shoving my face into his shirtsleeve like a kid, I tried to unpick the mess in my lungs with deep breaths, pulling hard and letting myself get caught up in getting by.

_You can do this on your own. You always have. But damn if it don't feel nice not to have to._

Everything just fucking hurt; there was this spot behind my collarbone that throbbed with every heartbeat and I could swear I felt the bones of my wrists grinding together just past my freezing hands. When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I heard and felt him quietly humming. It was the song I always broke out while trying to solve problems, to make things less complicated, a simple lilting chorus he must have picked up on a couple of occasions that week. 

_day by day by day by day, by day by day, by day by day..._

Well-fucking-timed, Omega. It's the indie rock version of "Just keep swimming." I wasn't sure he even knew he was doing it. 

Eventually, I slouched back down, setting my empty cup on the table and my head in his lap, letting out a series of satisfied noises when he took the opportunity to knead the tense, painful spots along my neck and scalp. My heart was still racing, responding to a primitive inability to determine the actual nature of a threat before responding, but the knotted fear in my stomach had loosened a little and I could finally close my eyes without it feeling like quicksand. 

Half-asleep, drained of any and all substance, I barely stirred when he spoke again. “You know how much you’re worth, right?”

I glanced over at the coffee table to see the former contents of my pockets. “Looks like… $2.47, a half-eaten Clif bar, and a roll of wrist tape.”

"One day you'll be too tired to fight me on this." He kissed my temple. 

"One day, I promise I will accept absolutely all of your compliments." 

I realized my hands were warmer.

 

 _(there is a place_  
_there is a place_  
_there is a place)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering: Will's US driver's license/ID says that he is a dude, because he is, but he was born in another state that is not particularly invested in making trans people's lives easier. This means that his new(ish) birth certificate indicates that it was amended, and anyone who wanted to play bureaucracy detective could either see the original or have a pretty good guess as to why. 
> 
> The song in question in the final scene is the original namesake of this chapter, ["Day By Day By"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtYWOSZX704) off Mike Doughty's album _Yes And Also Yes._


	7. burning oneself out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kenny knows exactly how to cheer everybody up. He also knows that Will looks really hot in a suit. 
> 
> Oh look! There's porn! There’s some surprise!feelings, and some safewording because of surprise!feelings, and then there’s some raucous facefucking and shit-talking and slapping and spanking and rimming and biting. You know. The usual. this probably needs a few more rounds of proofreading but I'm having a shitty day
> 
>  
> 
> [ref: Adrienne Rich, "Burning Oneself Out"](https://theeducatedprocrastinator.com/2015/03/10/tuesday-poetry-adrienne-rich-burning-oneself-out/)

My eyes were still sore when I walked into the office the next morning, but I felt a little bit better. Clearly didn't look it, though, because - 

"Rough night?" 

If it was anyone else, I would have been sorely tempted to slap them, but my boss was a pretty great guy. He'd been there far longer than me, and took a pretty big chance on my portfolio when I was an unemployed kid with about five minutes of sobriety under my belt and a stuttering explanation about why nobody called me by the name on my paperwork, both of which had cost me a number of prior gigs. So I got a chance at stability  _and_ health insurance and somehow never blew it. Hell, I was thriving. It wasn't easy, not by any stretch, and while he was always careful to be professional, I never lied to him, and he made it more than clear that I never had to. 

I gave him my best "I'm obviously faking it" smile, and he nodded knowingly, glancing around. "Let's go into my office and talk about... status updates." 

As soon as we sat down, he folded his hands and waited. "Crazy week?"

"Something like that, yeah. Good and bad." 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well, none of this is work-related, for the record." 

"I figured as much." A smile played on his lips. 

"I, um. The good news is that I think maybe I met somebody?" Holy shit, _that_ felt weird to say out loud. "I mean, I definitely met somebody, but we'll see if he sticks around. He's... Not from around here, and he's gotta go home soon." 

"Well hell, kid. Congratulations. What's the bad news, aside from the go-home part?" 

"I, um. I got kicked out of the tournament this weekend." 

"No shit," he said, and I blinked. Usually I did enough swearing for the entire compliance department all by my lonesome. "Was it the cut? You didn't listen to Joe, did you?" 

God, I love my cohorts. 

"Not that. I didn't cut, fuck that. I mean. Pardon my French. I would've made weight fine. The, uh, birth-certificate thing." 

He leaned back and swore again, this time in at least two languages that I could pick out. "I'm gonna make some phone calls on Monday," he grumbled. "I pulled one of the guys on the commission out of a locker in junior high. He owes me." 

That cracked us both up a little, but I was still too fuzzy-eyed to keep up my end of the conversation, so after a moment, he continued. "Look, you're way ahead of deadlines and I _know_ you have a ton of PTO, because you never use it. Why don't you at least take tomorrow off? Go see your sailor before his ship leaves port, or however the kids these days say it." 

I'd barely made it back to my desk before pulling my phone out of my pocket.

**KO** : _sorry I didn't wake up before you left today. Hope it's a good one! No plans for me so feel free to call at lunch or something if you want._

The next four hours flew by at ludicrous speed. Hell, I even got some work done. 

"Hey," I said, perching the video call on the small table in the teleconference room and shutting the door.

"Hey," Kenny smiled softly, and I watched his eyes take in my shiny, wood-paneled surroundings. "That's pretty swanky." 

"Ain't nothing but an illusion, darlin'," I intoned grandly, which is hard to do when one is simultaneously fighting with the lid on one's Hello Kitty bento box. (Thanks, mom.) "Like one of those Wile E. Coyote banners that you think is a tunnel." 

"Well, I mean, some of them actually _are_." 

Fighting back the grin was impossible. "I didn't come here for sass, young man."

"Yikes, Will. I hate to break it to you." 

I yawned. "D'you wanna do anything tonight?"

His eyes sparkled. "How alone are you right now?"

* * *

When I got home, he was waiting, freshly showered and looking adorably nervous. He even took my bag. 

I went to the bathroom, and when I returned, Kenny was standing awkwardly in the hall between the kitchen and living room, fingers tangled together. I closed my hands over his, and he shuddered to a stop, ducking down to favor me with a long, sweet kiss. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him hard against me, and he did the same, warm body pressed close as I barely hid my grin. “Guess what?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. Wait. Do I get in trouble if I'm wrong?"

“Ha! Not like that, sweetness. Let me try this again: guess who got told to take tomorrow off?”

Kenny was delighted, nearly scooping me off the floor. “So you’ll be able to go to the show early if you want? I know it’ll be boring, but I’d love to have you with me.” The way he so much as _phrased_ these things made me weak in the knees.

“Absolutely. I’m all yours.” I kissed him again, skin fairly buzzing with anticipation when he drew back.

“I heard,” he murmured against my forehead, “That it was supposed to be the other way around.”

_Holy hell._

Kenny dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his face to my torso as I shrugged my jacket off. I bent down and kissed the top of his head, heart full to bursting.

“You about ready?” I asked. He nodded, and I cupped the back of his head in my hands. "Speak up. Can I hit you, beautiful?" 

He nodded again, then cleared his throat. "Yessir."

I tapped him lightly with my fingertips, just to set a baseline, and he instantly relaxed into my other hand. A funny thought crossed my mind. "Is this why you signed up to get beat up for a living? Because if so, you might get more out of it by _not_ winning all the damn time." 

"That's not  _for_ me, though." Even his voice sounded cozy, with an adorably pouty cherry on top. 

"But this is?" He hesitated, blushing a little, so I pressed on. "You're right, you know. But not entirely. This  _is_ for you, of course it is." I leaned in close and lowered my voice until it was barely audible. "But, oh  _fuck,_  is it for me too."

Kenny shivered and hugged my legs.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you," I said into his hair with that same quiet tone, and his grip tightened even further. "And why is that?"

He didn't hesitate anymore. "Because I asked you to. Because I'm yours."

"Because you're mine and you asked me to." I smiled softly and straightened back up, loosening my tie and kissing his nose. Didn't have to go far - even on his knees he was just about to my shoulder. "Because you, my boy, asked me to take you apart and put you back together. Because I'd better make sure you carry away something to remember me by."

Just letting the words fall out took the stress and weight I was carrying with them. This was _heaven._  And we still had all our clothes on. 

Kenny nudged his face into my palm. I let the heel of my hand slide up to rest on his forehead, and he tipped his face up like he was waiting for a blessing. Tracing down his face with still-soft fingers, I gave his lower lip a light touch and he instantly opened his mouth. "Clever," I offered, my voice husky as I slipped three fingers into his mouth. "Know any other tricks?" 

He played along my knuckles with his tongue, gently kissing and sucking my fingers deep, and I found myself holding my breath. 

Then I pulled my hand out of his mouth and slapped him again, a little bit harder this time. He shivered again, straightened up tall and back on his heels, and let his hands and eyes drop from my body. 

 _Interesting._ The end result was clearly instinctive and homegrown - I didn't think anyone had particularly taught him that way, and if they did, they were missing a little bit. Something best noticed from outside. 

"Who taught you that?" I circled around, letting my boots make a little more noise than usual. 

"Chris Parker."

I shook my head as the joke cracked something in my chest. "I fucking love you, boy." 

His head snapped up, eyes wide, and I realized in complete horror what had just come out of my mouth. It wasn't beyond the usual realm of good-natured hyperbole I often shared with friends and loved ones, but given the circumstances... Honestly, let's not pretend there's a more grandiloquent literary phrasing than 'shit just got real weird.'

"Holy... Okay, okay, safeword, whatever we're doing is stopping," I babbled, reaching down to brace him as he got to his feet. "You are going to sit down and I am going to pace around seven thousand times and eventually say something sincere but awkward that might possibly explain how I've made it to my 30s without ever successfully learning to shut the fuck up -" 

"Will, I'm fine." 

I turned back to him with my own eyes as big as they got. "You what?" 

His own eyes crinkled. "I'm fine." He patted down his shirt as if to demonstrate that he had no wounds, and leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, consciously not touching. " _You're_  clearly not, and that's okay, but you don't have to stop on my account." 

"Seriously? But I - I fucked up." _I really, really fucked up._

"How?" He looked me right in the face and I seriously considered hiding under the kitchen table to get out of responding.

"I don't know, I... That can't be right?" 

"Did it feel right?”

 _Jesus wept_. "I guess, I mean, yeah. It was what came out from my guts or whatever, it was the word. But I can't just  _say_ shit like that, Ken. It's supposed to be... not like that." 

"This isn't a fucking rom-com, Will. This isn't  _Bridget Jones's Diary_ , although I kinda liked that one. If it's how you feel, it's how you feel. It's just a thing. A really important thing, sure, absolutely. But I'd rather it come out of your mouth in a moment because you just _felt_  it than going around some bullshit dance of timing and intention trying to make sure it only happens on an epic scale and in a way that's completely" - he twirled his hands, looking for the word - "premeditated and symmetric at all times." 

My eyes very much wanted to roll back in my head with relief. "First of all, thank you. Second, god, you're so hot when you, um, talk."

He stepped closer and kissed my forehead, bundling me up in his arms and letting me breathe. "You okay?" 

I took inventory for a moment. Aside from some small, expected jitters... Yeah, I was doing okay. I nodded slowly and he smiled. 

"Can I go back where I was? I kinda liked it there." 

"How about..." I flicked my eyes towards the corner and his smile got bigger. I grabbed him a folded blanket off the couch and gave him a moment to adjust to being on his knees again, back to the wall. Then I stepped up and cut him off with my body. "Show me what else you learned." Kenny looked confused for about a half-second, smiled crookedly, and looked up like I’d just offered him the universe.

He rubbed his hand over the bulge in my trousers; I'd switched to something closer to a pack and play as soon as I got home. The texture of the fabric and the weight of the contact was frankly overwhelming, and I groaned when he reached for the zipper. He paused, and I looked down to find him breathing hard before nuzzling against my crotch. 

"God, you’re such a prince. Sucking your dick in business attire is... I did not know that was a thing for me until this week. It is  _definitely_  a thing.” His eyes were wide and I leaned down for a kiss as he continued to fondle me. "I've been thinking about this for days." 

"Then get to it, before I get bored and fuck your face senseless," I said lightly.

Kenny, in return, casually tossed his hair back before mouthing over the fabric. "Promise?"

He looked up with those big blue eyes as he reached inside my fly, and when he pulled my cock out, I bent forward and slammed one hand onto the wall above his head a little harder than intended. 

"Is that how you want it, punk? Fucked until you can’t think?" I cuffed him again in a way that was downright affectionate and he moaned around what of my cock could fit in his mouth. I decided I liked that sound, and I told him so, and then slapped him again and saw the whites of his eyes. It felt like his whole body was limp, except where his hands clutched my thighs. 

I nudged my hips experimentally forward, working my cock slowly down his throat. He still held me tight, but I could feel him breathing deeply and waiting to open up. When I finally hit as far as he could take, which was nearly to the base, I closed my eyes and tucked away what that felt like, then drew back and fucked into his mouth again, a little less slowly this time. He let go of my legs, reached to the wall behind him, and closed his fingers over mine. I let him have them, and he brought them to his hair and tightened his grip to show me. 

 _"Oh._ Oh, sweet boy. Is that what you're after?" He nodded around a mouthful of cock, and I laughed. "You want some more attention, huh? Well you've got it." I carefully laced my fingers into his curls and thrust hard into his mouth, and he let out a loud cry that almost trailed off into a growl. 

I pulled my dick out of his mouth, and he took a long shuddery breath of air, eyes wild and spit smeared all over his gorgeous face. "Fuck...  _fuck_ , Will, don’t stop.”

"Nah, baby. I ain't done with you, not yet, not ever." I pinned him back against the wall, one hand still fisted in his hair.  

A peaceful smile crossed his face, and he bit his lip before taking my cock back in his mouth. In minutes, he was in shambles again, moaning and crying out around me as I cradled his face and fucked his willing mouth exactly how I liked it: slow, hard, and relentless. I held his head down on my cock for a moment, listening to him breathe heavily through his nose, and kicked his knees apart when I released. He immediately started winding desperately against my leg, and even as my own arousal started to creep down my thighs, I laughed. 

"Look at you, oh fuckin'  _look at you_ , all fucked-out and glazed over." A jolt ran through me at the sight. "Can't even focus those pretty eyes for me, look at you. So fuckin' safe and so fuckin' right down there where you belong. Not a thing in this world matters right now except this." 

Kenny was practically vibrating, and it only made me want to keep going. "I live for this, boy. The way you can't think straight with my dick down your throat, the way you allow that to happen because you know I've fuckin' got you." 

He gave me the tiniest nod and slid my cock out of his mouth again just enough to look up and gasp, “I’m gonna – you’re – please, please fucking come for me if you can, I don’t even know if you can but please –“

I slid my free hand down behind the waistband of my trousers. Christ, I was _soaked_ , and he was curled up on me like he might knock me over. “That’s what you want?” He nodded frantically. I gave myself a couple of lazy strokes before pulling my hand out and slapping him again. He didn’t even flinch, just turned to lap at my fingers before sucking my cock down his throat again as I put my hand back and found just the right spot that left stars behind my eyes.

Faintly, far away, he was talking, begging, but it was all but lost in the sweat and heat and pulse between us. With one last thrust, I was wobbling. 

“You’re so fucking good,” I muttered through clenched teeth as he tugged his shorts down. “Lose it on me, boy. I’ve got you.”

“Oh  _fuck,_ ” he exhaled, letting my dick go, and a quick glance revealed he’d made quite a mess out of both his hand and my trousers.

I tilted my head down, and with no further instruction he began licking his come off my pant leg while I unabashedly gawked.

When I sat down across from him on the floor, he tilted his head, confused. 

“Oh, I ain’t done. I said it before and I’ll say it again. What are you wearing tomorrow?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

I fluttered my eyelashes innocently. “Because, as you may recall, I’m gonna beat the shit out of whatever part of you won’t be on camera. I assume it’s the usual, but can't hurt to check."

“For you, I would wear a shirt in the ring, just for the record.”

“Noted. Maybe that’ll be for tomorrow night, then.”

Clearly that struck a nerve, because he shuddered, and that was my cue to drag him back to the bedroom. It just ain't fair how graceful some people can be on their knees; even his ascent up the bedframe was lithe and gorgeous, and I could only hope for half that as I knelt on the mattress and finished stripping him down, losing most of my own clothes in the process. 

“Oh, honey,” I whispered in his ear as he lay beneath me. “It’s gonna fucking hurt. I’m gonna make sure of that. Doesn’t mean you’re not a tough boy. Doesn’t mean you’re not _my_ tough boy. Does mean I’m gonna make you cry and then maybe cry again in a whole different way.” His breath jumped. "Oh, do that _again_ , handsome. I like it." This time it came out more like a sob, and I rewarded him with a kiss to the base of his neck. 

My first strike to his ass was half as hard as I wanted, and he barely stirred. Good. _This is what you do_. I built up a leisurely base layer, lulling him into the satisfaction of a beating meant for a masochist of a more sensual variety, interspersed with kisses and barely-articulated praise. When he was almost asleep from the attention, I changed the shape of my hand just a bit, aimed at a slightly different angle, and swatted his hamstring with a noisy, stinging slap. He jerked instantly, but I had anticipated that and hooked him around me in such a way he could easily escape if he wanted, but if he didn't, he'd feel well and thoroughly restrained, and also unable to accidentally flail into my face. 

The new set was very hard and brutally unpredictable. I was well aware of my tells - a soothing motion with my non-striking hand, a certain tension in my shoulders - and did my best to nudge every last one until he figured out what they were, knowing I could take them away later. This part was for me, the selfish sadism I tried so hard to keep under wraps, and he didn't fight back for long or in earnest. Seeing him not only take but _accept_ , give back in all those sweet little noises and sighs, made me feel bigger, stronger, more powerful. More like myself. More like who I wished I could be. 

He quieted as I wound back down, pleased as could be with the way he writhed and sank. For a final couple of blows, I simply punched him on both thighs, harder than he was probably used to in that particular place but not hard enough to do serious damage. At that, he yelped and cocked his head, and as I gently trailed my fingers over the marks, he said, "Did you just punch me? Is that what that was?" 

"Yessir." I bent down and kissed his hip. 

"I liked that one. You should do it again sometime." 

"Yeah?" I could barely contain my excitement. "Everyone thinks punching is out there. Like, hitting people with a singletail is normal for pervs but using your own fists on some good thuddy muscle is the point where it gets weird."

He smirked. "I liked it. I'd like you to do it again." Then his face lit up. "But I was also promised biting, if you'll recall." 

Like I hadn't dropped half my lunch on the floor when he suggested it. "You sure?" 

"Mmhmm."

I sank my teeth into him with increasing pressure until he stiffened, and then held it through another breath, releasing shortly after he did and grinding my knuckles into the welt. The noise he let out was nothing short of pure filth, and not for the first time, I decided I'd rather like to hear that again. And again. When I checked his face, it was sticky with fresh tears, and I kissed them away before impulse and desire took over and I tore into him once more. I didn't want blood. I just wanted him. 

“Get your ass up,” I ordered, tapping his lower back when I deemed his hips and thighs sufficiently mottled.

He immediately rose onto all fours, and his reward was a long, slow lick that left him squirming and whimpering helplessly. I hadn’t done  _this_ in a very long time, and he tasted better than anything I could remember – dark, sweet, radiating heat and vulnerability. It occurred to me that I could probably fuck him after this, but to be honest, I never wanted to take my mouth off him as long as I lived. Especially when he threw his head back. Especially when he tried so, so hard to fuck himself onto my tongue. Especially when he called out my name and fisted the sheets in his hands.

When I reached up and added teasing his nipples to the mix, he straight-up collapsed on the bed, and I had to wrap my arm around his hips to haul him back. 

* * *

 

Much later, as we lay relatively clean and quiet on the freshly-changed sheets, he asked, "So when do I get to mark you?"

Cliched as a country song, but oh lord, if he only knew I was marked all along. I smiled, and tapped my chest, and he rolled smoothly on top of me and looked up through a mass of hair with a very familiar smirk. I went to trail my fingers down his cheek, but he bit down first, and I jerked my hand away in an involuntary fist. 

"Holy  _fuck,"_ I gasped, and he stopped instantly and looked up. 

"You okay?"

"Mmhmm. Just... new, shiny, been-a- _while_ holy fuck." I took a deep breath, and let it out. "Do that again?" 

I sank into the pain like a trapdoor, down a lot further than I usually ever let myself go, until everything else just blazed away. Not because it didn't feel good; quite the opposite, in fact, to the point that it was very hard to go so far with anyone, really. Hell, it was fucking terrifying that I'd done it at all. I hadn't meant to drop like that, but he was so goddamn kind and soft and needy in the ways I desperately wanted and I was, as established dozens of times over by this point, in big fucking trouble. 

I must have sunk so far into that beautiful haze that everything else fell away, and when soft kisses brought me out of it, I realized he'd dropped a couple of sets of teeth marks just above my collarbones.

I reached up and pressed one, luxuriating in the sparks of pain. Stars in the darkness. One of them had brought me back where I belonged. 

 

 

 

_We can look into the stove tonight_  
_as into a mirror, yes,_

_the serrated log, the yellow-blue gaseous core_

_the crimson-flittered grey ash, yes._  
_I know inside my eyelids_  
_and underneath my skin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chris Parker](http://marketplace.wikia.com/wiki/Chris_Parker) is one of the main characters in Laura Antoniou's BDSM series The Marketplace. He's a queer switch - in the series, he's a slave trainer and spotter - and also the first trans man to be a major character in "mainstream" published erotica. (He might actually be the first trans person in that category, period, but I'm not 100% on that.) 
> 
> That line and the scene surrounding it was one of the first things in this series I ever wrote, many months ago, because Chris, being a bisexual toppy trans man written by a butch lesbian, is basically my dream character and I will take any opportunity to throw in references to the Marketplace.


	8. fightstarter karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With 24 hours until Kenny goes back to Tokyo, things start to get... I guess 'interesting' is the word. 
> 
> The two nerds get in a fight, but not the kind you're thinking of. Well, it might be the kind you're thinking of. EVERYBODY gets involved. 
> 
> There's a little bit of kayfabe breaking in the sense that promos are clearly being cut. (But wrestling itself is still, and always, just another combat sport.)
> 
> This is just some indefensibly goofy shit, honestly, and the kind of dumb banter you think is super clever when you're whacked out on adrenaline. 
> 
> [soundtrack: Dropkick Murphys - Do or Die - "Fightstarter Karaoke"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1SsFH9Z0ww) (aka my theme song)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucked up and accidentally deleted some stuff again but I think it was pretty minor? Getting this out a little earlier than I planned because I'm basically going to be working or traveling for the next, like, 4 days, yikes. We're getting so close to the end!

_riot tonight!_  
_everybody let's go!_  
_gonna start a fight_  
_but with who?_  
_i don't fuckin' know_

 _it doesn't take a big man_  
_to knock somebody down_  
_just a little courage_  
_to lift him off the ground_

 

"So I'm not really sure what we're doing here just yet," Matt explained, as Nick fiddled with his iPhone and I tried to mop my clammy hands with a checkerboard bandana. The room was largely empty around the ring, with the exception of a few scattered staff, my friends, and some young wrestlers setting up chairs and politely not staring. "We could just use it in the credits or make it a whole segment. If it's awesome, which it  _better_  be, we might put it up separately as some sort of 'BTE Special Edition' or something. I can see the t-shirt now." 

He was too busy fawning over his own mental images, so Nick took over, sweeping his hands around like an old-timey movie director. "One of those poster-marquee-style things, you know?"

"Oh man, I saw a Hearns v Hagler one like that with just the names and it was spectacular." I didn't think they'd actually do it, which just made the thought process way more fun. "Or like, some old cartoon fisticuffs." 

"That's it, you're hired, welcome to the team. Pass the prospecting period and you might even make it into the Elite." Matt looked positively delighted.

I tugged on my vest. "Just don't take a leak on my colors, okay? This thing has too much random shit on it to put in the washing machine. And no black, by the way. It better be the fucking loudest-ass color that PWT or whoever makes." 

"What the fuck?" 

"Y'all dress like Lisa Frank on a bender and I can't have a neon shirt? C'mon, now."

"But what do we call it?" Nick interrupted. "The fight, I mean. It's gotta have a good name, like the Rumble in the Jungle."

"I mean, I assume you're not going to post it as, like, 'small Asian man relentlessly pounds hot gaijin twink.’"

"Hey now! What kind of good Christian boy do you think I am?"

"The kind who gets irrationally excited about watching his friends beat each other up." I groaned. "I can't believe I'm doing this  _and_ letting you film it." 

After arriving early to the venue, Kenny had slyly suggested I make up for not getting to pummel anyone this weekend by doing a little bit of shoot fighting. I'd never been in a wrestling ring, and the image of my sorry ass sparring one of the best fighters in the entire world sounded downright hilarious, but it started to get a little more nerve-wracking when the Bucks showed up and immediately declared their involvement. 

Matt bounced from foot to foot in excitement. "We don't _have_ to! I just really want to see you kick his ass."

"I heard that!" 

"...Oh hey Kenny, I thought you were still in the back." Nick handed the camera to his brother, and gestured for us to move closer. Then further apart, because me having a staredown with Kenny's admittedly clothed nipples was not exactly feature-friendly. He blew out a puff of air that fluttered the top edge of my hawk, and I swatted at him.

"Like I'm gonna miss my top lieutenants plotting a coup. You _underestimate_  me, boys." His voice had sharpened, and I decided to quit fighting the smirk. 

"Let's get it on!"

Nick stepped into his corner, Joe circled around to mine, and Polly made a big show of pretending she was going to hide under the ring before stepping back and slapping my ass. I squeaked, and she laughed and sat down primly in the front row.

Kenny and I both climbed onto the apron and wiped our feet. I stuck the bandana in my back pocket, then took my vest off and set it down, stomach tense with nerves. He held the ropes apart for me, the sneaky mischief clear on his face, and I turned to the camera, rolled my eyes, and climbed up myself, landing hard on the other side with a shotgun sound that threw me more than a little off-balance. Turns out wrestling rings are fucking loud. 

My beloved opponent laughed and hopped over much more smoothly. "Refusing my manners, William? That's not a good way to start things out." I swear, if the man had a proper mustache, he'd've been twirling it.

I ignored him, but didn't look away, chirping to cover my anxiety, "Rules? Rules. _Please_ tell me how to legally beat his ass before he whips out a monocle or some shit." I didn't know what I was so nervous about. This was supposed to be fun. I was almost certainly going to lose, badly. Basically anything short of crying in the first ten seconds would be a massive accomplishment as far as I was concerned. 

"Pinfall!" Matt called. I saw Kenny nod over his head to Cody and a few other people as they entered the room behind the Bucks. "Submission! Knockout! Crying like a little bitch! You got ten minutes starting right now. No closed fists, no small joints, either one of you leaves the ring and you get superkicked because we don't feel like chasing you. Don't actually fuck each other up, though. I'm not carrying Kenny's suitcase onto the airplane tomorrow because you broke his arm." 

"Who the fuck is in charge here?" I asked the room, checking the laces on my Adidas. "I don't think you can ref  _and_ hold a camera." 

"Stop killing time, Will! And I don't fucking know. Cody?"

"Fuck  _that,_ he's on your team and y’all already got me beat on numbers. Pol?" I turned, and my best friend bolted out of her chair, shimmying under the ropes and fluffing her hair. "I'm gonna try not to need you except for the three-count, if that." 

"Why does everyone think I can't  _hear_  them today?" Kenny seemed delightfully exasperated. 

A few more people had trickled in, and I pounded my fists on my chest, feeling weird as  _fuck_ about going bare-knuckled and band-t-shirt-ed for the first time in forever. "I oughta Sweet Shin Music you into next month for making me do this in jeans, you  _ass._  Could've at least warned me."

Kenny, who was lucky enough to be wearing basketball shorts, held up his hands with a grin. "Alright, alright, take it easy!" 

"I'll take it however I can get it," I drawled without really thinking. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your main event for the afternoon!" Matt interrupted, voice doing its best to boom. "Fighting out of the corner to my right! From, uh. Bumfuck, Alabama! Weighing in at, depending on how many burritos he's eaten lately, roughly 150 pounds. Your contender, Will 'Hang 'Em' Hayashi!" 

"Seriously?" I muttered under my breath. "That's fucking morbid."

"And fighting out of the corner to my left, from Winnipeg, you idiots, weighing in at 200-something-odd pounds, the reigning and defending champion of literally everything, Kenny 'The Cleaner' Omega!" 

Polly yelled, "Ring the bell!" and then paused. "I've always wanted to say that." 

There was a burst of cackling from the apron and when I automatically glanced over to see who it was, I immediately ate a clothesline and rolled off to the side, crouching low while I let the sting fade. "You son of a bitch!" 

Kenny fairly crowed, right up until I launched myself at him and somehow managed to pull a single-leg takedown, sweeping him across the floor. He kicked me away so hard that I barely managed to get underneath myself as I slammed into the cables and he popped back to his feet.

Holy  _shit,_  that felt weird, and I'm pretty sure I missed knocking myself out on the top rope by a matter of inches, but the resultant forward momentum was surprisingly useful. I filed that bit away before putting on the brakes just outside of what I thought his reach might be. Kenny started to pace in my direction, and I cracked my neck. Now this part was familiar, if slightly backwards. I circled him like a shark, making a big show of dragging my eyes up and down his body. He took a few stutter steps forward, trying to fake me out, but I just grinned at him. 

"Can't bullshit a bullshitter, Omega!" 

"Okay, that's two. Are you determined to use every redneck cliché you've ever learned?" 

I shrugged without dropping guard. "I mean, I was saving the one about the one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, but this whole thing is already queerer'n a three-dollar bill, so I figure I oughta roll on before I grow moss. Or something."

"Hey!" Matt hollered. "I came here for a  _fight!"_

Before I could even open my mouth, Kenny called back, "Well considering who you invited, you should be glad a hockey game didn't break out." 

"Maybe we should just make out instead of fighting, that'll shut 'em up," I grumbled, and was rewarded with his forearm across my chest in my very least favorite lockup variation.  

I felt the pressure in my arms and shoulders and I knew he was trying to walk me backwards towards the ropes, but I didn't really feel like going, so I pushed back, and when he returned the favor, I just got the hell out of the way. Him tripping over my feet in the process was, I swear to god, completely accidental. 

When he was halfway up, I decided to press my luck and went for a double-leg this time, hoisting him up over my shoulder and twisting until we both hit the mat. That got me a one-count, to my surprise, and then I got tossed off into a very ungainly backwards roll, eventually wiggling to my feet just in time to be picked up by the shirt collar and slammed into the ropes. I swung wildly at him, barely dodging a barrage of precise strikes in return. 

My boy was good. My boy was very, _very_ good.

We circled for a while, sparring in earnest, trading holds and counters and good-natured insults. Somebody called five minutes, then seven, then eight. We were both drenched and I was exhausted, trying to think of literally anything that could possibly help me overpower several weight classes and years of experience. 

He had me in a long-armed collar and elbow, and I suddenly got an idea so stupid it just might work: twisting in midair, I threw myself between his legs and let my arms cross, then ducked, forcing him to flip over my back and slam hard to the ground as I shot backwards and straightened out. "Yes!" I was so excited with my own success that I almost forgot what came after and scrambled to regain my grip. 

I had a wristlock on for about two seconds before he overpowered and I let go, and he whipped around, wide-eyed, barely giving me time to roll over and pull an arm drag that sent him flying again. This time, I got to my feet first, circling with a little more purpose. Maybe I could do this. I didn't think I could do much with his legs - there was just too much leverage to keep him on the ground, and I was fucked anywhere higher than said ground, but with the right shoulder or elbow lock, just  _maybe_  I could get him to tap. 

He tried to lock up again but I snagged his outstretched arm and tossed it across my body, rolling up on his back for another takedown that could lead into an armbreaker. But I was so focused on the arm that I forgot to watch the rest of him, and in an instant, he spun out and a brutal knee knocked the air right out of my lungs. I was pinned before I knew the name of the train that hit me, and Kenny thumped my shoulder and pulled me to my feet while I wheezed and everyone else scattered. 

"You see this shit?" He pointed at the camera, now being held by Nick, then at me, and I instinctively went all shifty-eyed and froze.  _Defuse defuse defuse._ "I'm the best wrestler in the  _fucking_  world. The  _world_. And I will prove it any fucking time, any fucking place, with any fucking person I think is worth my precious time.”

 _Oh shit. He's doing this._ I relaxed a little, covered my mouth, then gave up and braced my forearms on my knees, ducking my head and breathing deep. It was almost disorienting to see him continue to run his mouth on the apron, gesturing wildly, sweat running down his face. He'd stepped in front of me to address the camera directly, and I took a minute to fondly remember the teeth marks under his shorts. Then, for reasons that to this day remain unclear, I climbed up on the ropes behind him, pulled my bandana out, and started patting at the sweat on his face. Endorphins are a hell of a drug. 

In one smooth motion, Nick handed the camera back to Matt, collapsing on the ground in a fit of stifled giggles. 

Something soft hit the side of my head and landed neatly over my shoulder. I whipped around to the left, fell off the ropes, and caught myself just in time to snag whatever it was, dropping my bandana in the process.

Huh. Somebody had thrown a clean shirt at me from ringside.

I shook it out, recognized the logo, and looked up to find the man behind it, Kenny's opponent for the evening, giving me a saucy wink. 

"Thanks, buddy," I called to Big Mike, threatening to pitch it back to him with a smile. "Too bad you're not really my type!" 

"Yeah? I thought you  _liked_  Canadians! And you looked like you could use it."

The rumor mill in this joint. 

I deflected again with a bow, and decided to hang onto the shirt anyway just in case. "You saying I smell bad, big man?"

"Oh come on," he teased. "You're doing me a favor wearing him out, it's the least I could do." God, that smile was ten times more killer up close. He followed it up by rolling a water bottle across the canvas in my direction, and I was pretty sure I was in love. 

Kenny turned around slowly, dramatically, and I remembered we were still on camera. Oops. "Michael. Fucking. Elgin. How  _dare_  you interrupt this moment.  _We_ " - he gestured between the two of us - "are having a moment, and you think you can just waltz in and put your bullshit  _face_ in it?" 

Elgin raised his eyebrows but remained silent and uncannily calm. Kenny was practically on fire with energy, and when I realized I was standing in the middle, I opened the bottle with a noisy  _snap_ and took a long drag, forcing a pause. 

"Kenneth," I drawled, once I was done, "The only moment here is between you and your reflection in that lens. Pretty sure you forgot I was here."  

"Ooooo..."

"Don't you fucking 'ooooo' him, you're on my side!" Kenny whirled at the Bucks, who made a big show of backing away but most definitely did not stop filming.

"Domestic tension, my good man?" Mike called out, climbing up to lean casually against the ropes, and I choked on my water.

"You... Listen up, Maytag. I don't care what you say, what anyone else says, all that matters is that tonight, I'm going to embarrass you in front of this ridiculous group of people, because that's what they came here to see, after all." He sneered fiercely. "The best wrestlers in the world... And their. Ahem.  _Opponents._ I guess this" - he waved disdainfully around the ring - "will have to do for now. So get the fuck out of my face."

There was a long silence. I laid my hands over my heart like an offended southern belle. Matt tapped the screen and then burst into hysterics, followed shortly by everyone else in the room. "We're putting that shit on Twitter right fucking now!" he yelled over the din. 

Elgin winked at us both with a huge smile and went back to pulling shirts out of his bag. My friends announced they were going to dinner, but I declined, perched on the apron, still feeling fight-buzzed and a little queasy. Kenny immediately scooted over to my side and bumped our shoulders, picking up my vest and folding it over his lap.

I drank some more, and stuttered. "I. Um." 

"You okay, handsome? I probably should have warned you I was gonna... do that." 

"Nah, I wasn't surprised. That was just a  _ride_ , baby."

Kenny blushed, and took my proffered water. "It occurred to me halfway that it might have been a mistake." 

"Why, because it got your boy all flirty?" 

"Ha! More like, it might look like I brought you up there just to beat you." He touched my lower back briefly, and I shrugged and leaned into him.  

Matt chose that moment to butt in as he scrolled through the footage. "Oh  _trust_  me, dude, when they see that drop  _seio nage_ , nobody in their right mind would think Will was some kind of hack. And even if they did, that's some good fuckin' heat - get yourself a jobber who almost hands you your ass?" 

"Well ain't you sweet," I said, pretty sure my face was purple. "I'm still gonna end up wearing this shirt, though. Fucking drowning in my own BO. Where the hell's the shower around here, anyway?”

"Oh fuck that," Matt said with a grimace. "If you're not gonna wear your _boyfriend's_ merch, I'm making you wear ours."

Kenny and I stared at each other.

“You… oh for _fuck’s_ sake!” He set his phone down specifically so he could throw both hands in the air. “Nick! They’re still doing that thing!”

For the second time that day, I got hit with a shirt.


	9. the world you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it all ends where it started - at a wrestling match. things get weird and sad and funny and sad and weird.
> 
>  
> 
> [soundtrack - Jimmy Eat World - Futures - "The World You Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URjX4Fye1Pg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: there's one more chapter after this, but no more porn, at least in this arc. Just a lot of emotions and sappy bullshit. (Oh is there EVER porn elsewhere, though.) 
> 
> I have dreams and aspirations for where this is going afterwards, but am taking a break while I sort out my nanowrimo project and some personal stuff. Either way, fear not, we shall return with more disgusting fluffy cuteness before you know it!  

_i'm in love with the ordinary_    
_i need a simple space to rest my head_    
_and everything gets clear_    
_well i'm a little ashamed for asking_    
_but just a little helps; it gets me straight again_    
_helps me get over it_

 _it might seem like a dream_  
_but it's real to me_    
_don't it feel like sunshine after all?_

 

After everyone was set up, Kenny led me to the back, arm slung over my shoulder, nonchalantly nibbling on my ear as soon as he thought no one could see. 

"You want the first shower? To the victor goes the spoils and all that." I gestured with my free hand. 

He winked. "Well that means  _you_  go first, doesn't it? The real MVP."

"You kicked the shit out of me, Ken!"

"No, I just won the  _fight._ You made me work for it." He grinned cheerfully and I rubbed the bridge of my damp nose.

"Just get in the shower, Omega." 

"Not unless you come with me." He tugged on my hip, and I glanced around. The room was largely empty, and there was plenty of space between the stalls. Still, I wasn't really known for being comfortable in strange locker rooms, and my anxiety was readily apparent. 

Kenny took in my face and nodded. "Do you want me to see if there's another room? There might be a family one or something." 

"Nah, don't worry about it. But I'm changing in the damned stall, so we're taking the big one. And no shenanigans, because we are both gonna have to do our hair again." I kicked off my sneakers and hung up my jeans on a hook so they could at least get a few minutes of air time - they were nowhere near as bad as my shirt and shorts. When I turned back around, Kenny was rummaging through his bag, and offered me up a handful of clothes. The shirt was faded and well-loved, one of the old Tokyo Chainsaw Massacre ones, and I snickered at the Pac-Man print boxers. 

We still spent way too long in there, but I sure as shit wasn’t letting him out of my sight without making at least a cordial attempt to sort the hockey mullet.  

I'd just started down the hall when I heard his voice behind me, and turned back around to find him tapping his cheek expectantly.  

I retraced my steps, put on my best angel face, and gave him a peck, then on a whim grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him into a thorough and frankly embarrassing kiss before striding off trying to look like I owned the place, surreptitiously cussing all the while.

I made it to my seat just in time for the preshow, Elgin's tee dangling from my back pocket. Polly smirked. "Nice shirt."

Most of the show was a blur. When I got up to stretch during intermission, though, I realized I had a new message.  

 **Nick:**   _Come into the back! I’m about to upload the fight!_

_Fine, but I’ve got like 12 minutes so you’d better make it quick._

* * *

 

“ _Night Anarchy: Thunder Bloodshed_? What the fuck, Nick?”

“I used a random name generator I found on the internet. Isn't it sick?" He looked so pleased it was almost impossible to be mad. Almost.

“It sounds like an indie porno starring an entire roller derby team, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Well _I_  thought it sounded like a Ministry album.” He huffed over the tinny sounds of the fight coming from his phone. “Kenny likes it.”

I turned with a cackle. “Do you, now?”

He just gave me one of those soft smiles, eyes crinkling.

 _i fucking love you._  The thought was, as before, shocking and unbidden and probably brought on by fear and adrenaline and my seemingly endless supply of nervous energy. And yet it lacked the urgency I typically associated with those kinds of emotions. It was just there, blooming in my chest like a prayer. 

The main event rolled around, after a great evening of punching and good-natured foolishness, and I was about to vibrate right off the edge of my seat. This was, um. This was different.

The music kicked in; Polly grabbed my arm, hard, and I inhaled sharply as the curtains parted. Kenny was in his usual tights and t-shirt, but something was different - he had a black-and-white checkerboard bandana tied around his neck, pulled up over his nose and mouth like he was about to rob a silent-film bank.  _My_ checkerboard bandana.

"Where did he fucking get that?" she hissed, and all I could do was shrug before I remembered accidentally dropping it on the floor. He looked right into the camera, grinned with his eyes, and tugged on it a couple of times for emphasis before turning away and heading into the ring. When he took his entrance gear off, he saved the bandana for last, and brushed it briefly over his lips before handing it to Nick, who tied it around his hair.

"I thought he looked kinda naked," Pol joked, and I snorted. "Seriously though, that's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life. Your boy has good taste."

I closed my eyes for a minute, only opening them again when the crowd let out a second roar.

Elgin walked in with the understated swagger of a man who could, and had, easily hoist both of Kenny's cornermen over his shoulder like firewood. He collected a few high fives and gave out a few smiles, then pulled Polly in for a hug and slapped Joe and I on the back.

"How the fuck does he smell so good?" she demanded, and I just shrugged again. Then he turned back to her with a smile and her eyes widened, realizing that he had heard. I winked, and Joe reached to fistbump me behind his wife's back. 

The first part of the match was exactly what the world had come to expect from the Elite – tricks, tomfoolery, and audience participation. Mike did one-handed overhead presses with Matt. Kenny moonsaulted off the announce table and stood up in a perfect curtsy before being suplexed halfway across the room. Nick grabbed a couple of small children from the audience, loaded them up in a trash can, and threatened to toss them at the commentators while Matt knocked everyone else, including the ref, into a heap with some sort of springboard corkscrew thing that appeared to be in direct defiance of physics.

After returning said children to their parent, Nick bolted for me, tapping his bandana – “ _My_  fucking bandana, you ass,” I muttered under my breath – and I yanked it off his head, then just waited patiently while he stomped around and cursed at me. Shifty-eyed, I started folding, only to have the end result be… a swan. Nick shouted dramatically, so I tried again, and came up with a pope hat.

“God dammit, Will!”

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, like I wasn’t doing it on purpose to fuck with him, watching the others start to stir. “Hang on, I’m trying something new. How about… this!” I triumphantly held up something that kinda looked like a lotus flower, and used a badge from my vest to stick it to the narrow headband he’d transferred over from his wrist. “Good enough for you, cap’n?”

He kissed me on the cheek and bolted off just in time to take a forearm to the face, and I threw my hands in the air. “I tried, okay?” It was hopelessly lost in the din.

But around what felt like the ten-minute mark, something in the air started to shift, and even the audience quieted at the increase in tension. All mischief aside, Mike and Kenny were both extremely competitive athletes at the top of their game, and sooner or later, shit had to get real.

And did it ever.

After a barrage of punches and forearms, Kenny stumbled for a brief second, but that was all the time Mike needed to scoop him up into a damned agonizing vertical suplex. Kenny kicked his way out, but one knee buckled when he landed, and I had to grab my friends’ hands not to cover my eyes as he crashed into the turnbuckle. Nick dove in and grabbed Mike’s ankle, pulling him out of the ring, and when I saw Kenny back up, the focus in his eyes crystalizing like ice, I punched myself in the thigh so hard my knuckles cracked.

“Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t fucking do it,” I muttered, but even _I_  don’t listen to me, and when he ran for the  _tope_ , the look on everyone’s faces was pure fear and hope.

And then he missed. His busted knee clipped the top rope just the tiniest bit, he fumbled, and Mike caught him in mid-air, tossing Kenny backwards over his head sternum-first into the guardrail.

He hit the barricade right in front of us, eyes far away someplace, and I froze, not really sure what to do. The fan in me wanted to touch him, yell encouragement. The rest of me wanted to throw him over my shoulder and walk out, slapping anybody who got too close. The decision was made for me when he grasped for the nape of my neck, pulling our foreheads together as I stumbled out of my chair and cracked my knees on the floor.

“You okay?” he gasped, and it took everything in me not to laugh.

“The fuck you asking  _me_ for?” I whispered back, feeling his sweat stick to my face.

He didn’t get a chance to answer before Elgin deadlifted and threw him back against the ring post. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until someone, I’m not sure who, slapped me on the back and it all came whooshing out in a wave. After a series of exchanges that got him far enough away, Kenny went for a knee strike that probably would have knocked a lesser man’s head right off his body. Mike, on the other hand, was no ordinary guy, and after shaking his head in a daze, rolled away just in time to dodge the second. Kenny, being Kenny, went for a third, and it was just a molecule, an instant too late – Mike took a deep breath, grabbed the offending knee, and whipped it and himself to the ground, slamming Kenny’s face into the apron.  

My pulse was pounding in my ears so loud I couldn’t hear the crowd as I begged him  _get up get up get up i can’t breathe my legs are numb my hands are bruised my heart is aching_ and it wasn’t until my best friend hugged me with one arm that I realized I’d been half-standing, telling her over and over, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, my fucking heart hurts, I can’t fucking take it.”

“Yes you can,” she shushed out of the corner of her mouth, never taking her eyes off the match. “Shut the fuck up and breathe.”

Somehow, some way, Ken had rolled back into the ring, and when Mike followed, my boy took a deep breath and dodged around him, leveraging what joint strength he had left to wrench Elgin up off the ground. I let out a long string of hopeful profanity; if he could hit this, maybe it would buy him enough time to get on top. They were inches apart at this point, practically a photo finish, both battered and bruised and getting that haunted-eyed second wind.   

I don’t know how he did it, but when Kenny got Mike up on his shoulders, I shouted so loud that my voice started to rasp.  _Come on, come on, come on…_

And then it reversed. Mike went down, but took Kenny with him, making a transition into a ranger roll that was so goddamn slick I probably would have gone into shock if I weren’t already mid-panic-attack. Then he tossed Kenny in the air like he was flipping to the cool side of the pillow,  _somehow_ caught him again, and the entire room held an absolutely deafening swell of tense silence.  

When Elgin hit the Burning Hammer, the room exploded in noise. I screamed. I don't remember much else, not the pin, not the bell, not the crowd, until I took a deep breath and realized Joe was holding both me and his wife around the waist  _way_ harder than normal and that my eyes burned. Kenny was crumpled in the ring, eyes mostly shut and glazed-over. I couldn't tell if he was unconscious or not but it looked awful. My stomach roiled.

And then he got up, at least to his knees, before collapsing again. Mike was busy having his hand raised, but on his way out of the ring, I saw him duck long enough to brush Kenny's cheek, and he squeezed my elbow for the briefest of moments. I barely felt it. I wasn't feeling much of anything, to be honest. My hands were numb from gripping the railing. 

And then his eyes focused. The Bucks hauled ass into the ring, blocking our view with enormous concern on their faces, and I managed to release the barricade long enough to pound my fist into it as the crowd slowly began to disperse. I glanced around briefly and saw the big security guy who had helped me the week before. 

 _Fuck fuck fuck what's his fucking_  - "Sean!" I hollered, and he looked over with a tight half-smile. "Sean, I'm jumping this goddamn barricade, please don't spear me or get me arrested but if you gotta, I'll make it work, okay?" 

He didn't say anything, just nodded, and I bolted like a bat out of hell, nearly faceplanting on the floor before it occurred to me to use my goddamn  _chair_  to make up for my short legs. I turned to my friends and squeezed both their hands. "I'll text you later, okay? I gotta go." 

I slid into the ring and pulled up short behind the boys, not touching anything or anybody. "Tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's okay." My voice cracked. I really was coming full circle tonight. 

Nick spoke first, quietly. "He's conscious, he's moving a little. I don't think it's serious but the EMTs are gonna check just in case." Sure enough, they slid in right behind me, asking him questions and poking and prodding. 

I heard creaking, and Nick turned back to Kenny. "Do not fucking get up until they tell you to, you asshole. I love you but I will still murder you myself if you make this worse."

Matt and I both snorted in spite of ourselves. 

Then they turned to me and spoke at once, which was moderately disorienting. "Take care of him, okay?"

"I... Do you want to take him back with you? Do you think he'll feel better that way?" 

Nick shook his head. "Nah. If you're okay with it, and they clear him. He'll just need some time." He leaned in near my ear. "He might be a little needy." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I have  _no_ idea what that's like. Not a single clue. And definitely not in front of him." 

Kenny shuffled to his feet as we conferred with the medics, who concluded that he was exhausted and moderately banged-up but not seriously injured. Nick and I wrapped arms around his waist, and Matt went ahead to spot a place for him to sit down, hydrate, and decompress for a bit while we packed up his and their stuff. A few of the other guys popped by on their way to check on him, and I shook a few hands and exchanged shitty, tense small talk before drying my face off and busying myself with work. 

After several long moments of silence, Nick piped up with the good gossip. "Now that we know he's not dead, I'm just gonna say it: he hasn't shut the fuck up about you in like, weeks, you know that, right?" 

I almost dropped the merch I was folding. "Hadn't really thought about it."

Matt continued, "Even before you met, it was like this huge fucking joke that he kept making us look at all your tweets and videos and shit. He'd get all excited every time he found the right thing to send you. Made us listen to all your playlists." 

"I am  _so_ sorry. That must've been... special." The mental image was frankly impossible.

"Oh, it is. Where do you think all those damn selfies he's been taking have been going? It’s all we can do to keep him from posting everything all over his main; he keeps everything to himself so much that he doesn't know when to shut up. If that makes any fucking sense." 

I blew out a breath. "I worry about it a lot." 

"Don’t you wanna see what people are saying?” He cocked his head.

"Nah. Ancient trans proverb, 'never read the comments.'”

Nick rubbed his eyes. "God, I hate that shit, and I double-hate that it's happening to you even peripherally."

"Like, oh yeah, it's so easy and rewarding to be not-straight in public,” Matt growled sarcastically. “It was gonna be Nick and I's gimmick, but he got there first." Their synchronized eyeroll belonged in a museum. 

"Yup. I take on a certain amount of shit with how I am – comes with the territory. I don't need people up his ass because of me." 

"Why you? I mean, you're good-looking, good fighter, you're clearly not after his coattails, why would anyone care?"

"I mean, thanks? But spoken like a dude who doesn't have to regularly answer intrusive questions about his dick." I zipped the suitcase with a little more force than was strictly necessary, but the motion only served to remind me that I was still wearing his shirt, sleeves neatly cuffed to accommodate my smaller size. 

"So what, you'd never be public? Not about your dick. I mean. Fuck. You know what I mean.”

I shrugged. "It’d be on him to make that call. I'm just some guy who goes back to the office on Monday." 

That wasn't entirely accurate. I knew that if this... whatever the fuck it was got out, I'd probably have backlash of my own, but at least it probably wouldn't affect my job or my friendships. I'd have a lot fewer people yelling at me on the internet, more likely than not.

 

 _it doesn't seem there's hope for me_  
_i let you down  
but i won't give in now, not for any amount_

 _don't it feel like sunshine after all?_  
_the world we love forever, gone_  
_we're only just as happy_  
_as everyone else seems to think we are_

* * *

 

The front door had hardly shut before he was clutching me tight, face buried in my shoulder, barely able to move from the foyer. He was clearly still a little drunk on damage, shaking and wide-eyed, and all I could think to do was cradle him like a baby bird, running my fingers through his damp, tangled hair and trying to keep the weight off his inflamed but fortunately undamaged knee.

"Hey. You're alright. You're alright. You're home." I wasn't even thinking about the words that were coming out of my mouth. "Baby, you're home. You're home."

He nodded into me without looking up. "With you."

"You're damn right you're home with me." A thought crossed my mind, something one of the boys had said. "You get like this when you lose?" 

Another nod, this one a little smaller. "Not this bad, though." 

"What's different?" 

There was a long silence, and I made myself wait it out.  _Time time time. All the fucking time you need. Anything you fucking need. Just wake up. Just come back._

When the answer came, it was barely audible. "I fucking hate losing. But I really didn't want to lose tonight. Disappointed everyone."

"Bullshit." I couldn't help myself.

He looked up, wide eyes threatening to knock me dead. 

"Bullshit. You heard me. You were amazing. If anything, I should be apologizing for wearing you out beforehand. Mike was right." 

He shook his head petulantly and I almost laughed. 

"C'mon. Let's get you pajama'd and I'll make tea." 

Thus attired, we padded into the kitchen, and out of habit, I started humming as I fiddled with the cups and pulled out some farmer’s market blend that tasted like a nap feels. Kenny wrapped his arms around my waist, swaying with me until I tipped my head back for a kiss.

I picked my head back up and felt his voice on the nape of my neck. "Hey Will?" 

I picked up one of his hands and kissed his fingers. "What's up, Ken?" 

"Can I have some more hugs?” 

I could _hear_  the puppy eyes from behind, and smiled. "Only if you dance with me." 

"Okay!" Even exhausted, his enthusiasm was beyond adorable.

It was just whatever was stuck in my head, and I couldn't think of anything else, but I turned and bundled him up in my arms anyway, mumbling a simple, slow melody until the kettle clicked. 

We drank in close silence; I couldn't bring myself to stop stroking the back of his neck with my free hand, and every point of connection seemed to help bring him back down. He put the empty cups in the sink, and nuzzled sleepily into my neck as we meandered slowly towards bed. 

"Last night," he murmured, once we were thoroughly wrapped up in the sheets and each other. 

"That it is." My voice came out a little tighter than I wanted it to. 

"That fucking sucks." 

"That it does." I bit my lip, hard, the sting keeping me a little more together. “You okay? Knee alright?”

“Better now,” he slurred, barely awake. “Heart hurts, though. Didn’t want to go out like this.”

“What, in bed with me? Because I’m sure I can call the guys and get them to take you in – “

He groaned. “Don’t wanna be anywhere else. Kinda figured tonight would be all ice-cream-and-victory-sex or something.”

I made an exaggerated move towards the edge of the bed, and he made a silly noise, wrapping me up tight as I joked, “I mean. Corner store’s 24/7, I could get you some of that cappuccino Ben & Jerry's shit, just say the word.”

Instead, he kissed my throat and I stuttered, so he did it a few more times until I completely forgot what I was saying in the first place, sliding my hand up his ribcage and pulling him closer until his breathing started to even out and my eyes drifted to closed.

Last night.

That fucking sucks.

 

 _i fall asleep with my friends around me_    
_only place i know i feel safe_    
_i'm gonna call this home_

 _the open road is still miles away_  
_ain’t nothing serious_  
 _we still have our fun, or we had it once_

_but windows open and close  
that’s just how it goes_

_don’t it feel like sunshine after all?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for the phrase "drunk on damage" goes to Mr. Josh L. Barnett, I can't even pretend to have come up with something that good on my own. (I have an entire list of writing prompts that are just funny things Josh has said on NJPW commentary. True story.) 
> 
> Also also, the [wrestling event name generator is in fact a real thing](http://www.seventhsanctum.com/generate.php?Genname=wrestleevent) and it's totally worth your time.


	10. paper wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakfast, goodbyes, group chats, and heart-eyes
> 
>  
> 
> [soundtrack: Rise Against - Siren Song of the Counterculture - "Paper Wings"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIP4Q_L5iCM)
> 
>  
> 
> (we did it, y'all! we made it through this ridiculous story! thank you so much for bearing with me! this is not the end of this universe, not by a long shot, but further additions will (a) not be happening for another month or so, and (b) will be more like one-shots or short stories that exist in this universe and aren't quite as chronologically complete as this one. I think I'm still going to stick them on the end of this same story, because that way people who don't want to subscribe to me as a whole but are subscribed to this fic can still get whatever I write about Kenny, but I just wanted to let y'all know what it'll probably look like going forward.)

_one last thing i beg you please_  
_just before you go_  
_i’ve watched you fly on paper wings_  
_halfway round the world_  
_until they’ve burned up in the atmosphere_  
_sent you spiraling down_  
_landed somewhere far from here_  
_with no one else around_  
_to catch you falling down_  
_and i’m looking at you now_

* * *

 

Back at the diner on Saturday morning, the whole thing felt like a bitter dream. Kenny had woken me at near-sunrise, restless with something unspoken, and we'd spent what felt like hours kissing each other awake and asleep and awake again. This was it. He was going home, and I was going home, and those were not the same place. They might never be the same place again. 

"Can I ask you something?"

He looked nervous, which is usually my job, so I took a big swig of my coffee to knock the sour taste out of my mouth. "Yeah, of course." 

As he twisted his fingers together, I felt my heart racing. Dry-eyed and suddenly clammy, I held onto my cup for warmth, clenching tighter when he spoke. 

"What happens now?" 

 _Jesus. Why me? We all knew it was gonna come to this, all 'nice knowing ya' and 'I'll see you around.'_ _Now he knows better. Now -_

"Will? You okay?" 

 _Tell the fucking truth_. "Not really. I've been trying super hard not to answer that question, and doing a real good job ignoring it." I set my coffee down to rub my face, realized my hands were sticky, and scrubbed them on my napkin instead. Our waitress came by and the clink of the coffee pot against the cup almost sent me through the ceiling. "I... Thank you, ma'am." 

She just smiled and turned to the next table. 

His voice was soft and deliberate, almost lost in the noise from the kitchen. "I still want to see you when I come back. Is that still what you want?" 

Everything got a little hazy. "Me? Really?" 

"Yes, you. Absolutely you. I... I know we talked about it, but that was then, and if you've changed your mind, I totally respect it. I don't really know what I'm doing.” 

It felt like the words were actually, physically stuck in my throat, and when I finally pried them loose, it all came tumbling out. "I never thought I'd want to be around somebody this much. It was always so fucking hard before and I didn't think being with me was worth that to them. But this shit? It's fuckin' terrifying, and confusing, and goddamn paradoxical, because it's easy as it gets for me. It makes sense."

I stole a glance across the table, and realized Kenny was holding out both hands a little over halfway across, palms down, elegant fingers curled on the surface as he spoke. "My biggest fear isn't telling you how I feel - that's the easy part, and it always has been. It's that you might not want it from me." 

I looked up at his face, all soft curled edges and tired eyes, and I believed him. "Why wouldn't I?" 

He shrugged, eyes closing for a moment. "Why did your last relationship fail?" 

I was pretty sure I knew why he was asking. "Because I thought everything was fine and then it wasn't. If i wanted to be nice, I'd say that neither of us was who the other was expecting. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but opiates. You?" 

"Because I thought everything was fine and then it wasn't. If I wanted to be nice, I'd say it was because I'm a sad-sack workaholic with horrific timing. You see what I'm getting at?" 

"That we both can't read situations for shit?" 

"That... sounds about right. So even through everything that's happened, I can't trust myself enough to assume I know what's going on and I don’t want to, anyway. I don’t want to guess.”

I thought of about fourteen jokes and made none of them. Instead, I shotgunned my coffee and did the scariest thing I could possibly imagine in that moment: reached over and took his hands. He smiled and gave me a hard squeeze, and I squeezed back. “Me neither.”

In the park across from my apartment, all the benches were taken, so I settled on a flat wide stone overlooking the fountain and he tucked in next to me, warm in the sunshine.  _Yup. Never moving again. I live here now._  

I pulled out my buzzing phone to see Twitter icons stacking up, mostly from strangers. When Kenny raised an eyebrow at the look on my face, I explained, "Looks like the clips from from last night are making the rounds. I'm sure everybody's got opinions."

"Are they nice?" He sounded genuinely concerned. "I worry about that a lot. All I want to do is brag about you, but..." 

I tapped a couple of times and turned off the notifications. "No idea, and I have no intention of finding out at this moment. Better things to focus on."

"You know you don't have to do this, right? Just ask one of the guys and they'll delete it or whatever you want.” 

I shrugged. "Nah, it's cool. I had a lot of fun, and I'd be lying if I acted like I wasn't at least a little curious to see how it turns out. I talked to the boys last night while we were packing up, might as well tell you the same: I’m a little freaked, of course. Not really used to being looked at.”

He glanced at his own phone, and covered his mouth with his other hand. "Speaking of." He tilted the screen my way. 

 **Nick** : _did you fucking ask him yet? I've got $50 riding on this don't let me down_

“Hang on a second." I pulled my phone back out and tapped into our group chat.

 **Me** : _You'd best not be betting against me, dirtbag_

 **Nick** :  _Dammit Kenny!_

 **Matt** : [long string of emojis]  _I told him this was a terrible idea but noooo_

 **Kenny** :  _who the fuck is betting on what here?_

 **Nick** :  _it's not what you think_  
**Nick:** _ok it’s exactly what you think_  
**Nick** :  _$50 on whether you asked him, period. I said yes and Matt thinks you'd chicken out. Sub-bet: if you do ask and Matt loses, even stevens if Will punches you (probably in the arm or something I'm guessing, I know he seems to like your face)_

 **Matt** :  _Dude! You're biasing them! This is so unfair_

 **Me** :  _what happens if I punch all of you?_

 **Matt** :  _...We all cry like babies. That might happen anyway tho_

I laughed and shoved my phone back in my pocket. Kenny did something similar, and then ducked down to look me in the face.  

"The truth is, I've been trying to avoid just... asking. Not because I don't want to know, but because it seems very junior-high to dump a question on you instead of discussing it like adults. Or reasonable facsimiles of adults."

I swallowed. "I just figured we'd talk about it when you got back. That way I'm not, you know. No pressure and you have time to think about how you feel without me staring you down." I raked my hair out of my eyes. "It's been a long time for me. This feels like a big deal. I don't want you to regret it." 

"I don't want  _you_ to regret it. Is that what you want, though? To let it wait?" 

"Honestly? Hell no. Six fucking weeks of not talking about our relationship status is my  _exact_  textbook definition of 'hell on earth.' It just seems like the grown-up thing to do." I shrugged.

"First of all, fuck being grown-ups. Second, is  _not_ doing that a viable option?" The corner of his mouth turned up, and I wanted desperately to kiss it. So I did, nose brushing the soft skin of his cheek, and he caught my face in his hands and turned it into something lingering and proper and breathless. 

"We don't have to do this the right way, whatever that is," he murmured quietly against my lips. "We can do it however the fuck we want." 

_Christ. Rip my fucking heart out, why don't ya._

I shook my head, and once again, let it go. "I'm so fucking yours. I was halfway there before you walked in. Or out, I guess. Biggest holdup on my end has been getting eaten alive by my own nerves and even that’s starting to piss off every time you so much as look at me like you're doing right now. As long as I've known you, you're this human personification of kindness and thoughtfulness and generosity. It's everything."

He reached for my hands, drumming his fingertips carefully as he spoke. "From day one, you've always been this beacon of energy - you don't stop, you don't crack, you just keep reaching out and putting yourself out there and doing things for the better. I want you and that around me as often as it can be.” He shook his hair out of his eyes. “I care about you so much, and I keep getting hung up on this, but I want to have that in a way that's fucking… demonstrable, yeah? So. Um. How about the human personification of 'boyfriend,' could I maybe try that one next?"

It was a _terrible_ segue, and he knew it, but we were both too busy grinning to complain. 

"I believe I would like that quite a bit." I thought for a beat. "Holy  _shit_ , that feels weird. Not in a bad way. I just... That combination of words doesn't come up a lot." 

"I mean, same? I feel like I need to practice?" Kenny's face lit up. "Like, 'gee, I sure had a great time at breakfast with my boyfriend!'" 

Both our phones buzzed, and Kenny groaned. 

 **Matt** :  _Status report, you idiots!_

I cackled. "Boy howdy, my boyfriend's friends are gonna kill us." The words still tasted a bit unusual in my mouth, but I was pretty sure I could get used to it.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling up the camera for the thousandth time. I went to set my head on his shoulder, like usual, but instead he delicately tapped my chin. “Kiss?”

“Alright, you big nerd,” I laughed, and tilted my face up, but the shutter never clicked. “What are you up to, Omega?”

He pulled away and then kissed me again. “Video. Which I am sending to our cohorts, if that’s okay with you.”

“Only if you use _all_ the heart stickers and somebody pukes in disgust. As your boyfriend, I deserve that much.” I still couldn’t help the snicker that emerged as he turned off the camera.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

* * *

 

We’d already cleaned up and packed most of his stuff before breakfast, but as he was tucking the last few items into his bag, he reached for his keyring and I held up a hand. "Please. Keep 'em. Just in case." 

“Really?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Really.” I grabbed the big suitcase, and he scoffed and tried to take it from me. “I dunno, I’m a big fucking sap. Feels good to know you’re carrying around something that’ll remind you of me. Especially since I’m never getting my bandana back from Nick.”

Kenny glanced down at my spare keys, which were attached to a tiny plastic meerkat that sat upright in his palm. As his fingers closed around it, I swear I got an inch taller.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get you anything.”

“Get your ass back here, that’s what you can get me. Besides” – I paused, and yanked my shirt collar to the side to reveal his teeth marks on my chest – “You _got_ me, sugar.” He blushed at that, and kissed my forehead. Honest, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about stealing a t-shirt or something, but –

“I… maybe I can do better than that. Just give me a second.” Kenny was rummaging through his carry-on. “Promise me you won’t fucking open this until I’m gone, okay?” It was a little spiral notebook with a rubber band wrapped around the cover that looked like it’d been to hell and back. He flipped it open, tore out a few pages, and shoved them in his pockets with a grimace. “Sorry. Some of it is my actual grocery list.”

“What’s the rest?”

“Me being awkward as fuck. Now please kiss me before my cab gets here?” He held out the notebook, and when I reached for it, he snagged my wrist and tugged me close, wrapping it shut and sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans. The little metal spirals snagged on the denim, and I lost myself for a long time in the sweet softness of the kiss. And then the next one. And the next. I stopped counting at five; all the blood was rushing to my head anyway.

“You _sure_ you don’t want me to take you to the airport?”

He smiled against my mouth. “I’m sure. I know it’s way out of the way, and I bet we’d both spend the entire ride being all jittery and weird about it and I don’t want to have to kiss you goodbye all polite in the security line.”

Then he palmed my ass and dragged our mouths back together.

He was absolutely correct.

“Well, be safe, okay?” I gasped when we finally disentangled.

He nodded firmly. “I’ll let you know when I’m onboard.” He kissed my forehead. “And when we land.” He did it again. “And when I get home. And whatever the hell else you want.” His deadpan face cracked a little, and I hugged him close, mumbling something that didn’t make sense but was probably embarrassing.

The door shut behind him, and I found myself laid out on the floor again. My phone buzzed a few minutes later, and I cursed, but it was just a notification of a new post, one which sent me right back onto the floor in 140 characters or less. 

“You dramatic little subtweeting SOB,” I wheezed.

**_@KennyOmegamanX:_** _It’s been a hell of a week & I miss the city already. Going home feels just a little less home today, but I’ll be back before you know it._

 

* * *

 

 _is this the life that you lead_  
_or the life that's led for you?_  
_will you take the road_  
_that's been laid out before you?_  
_will we cross paths somewhere else tonight?_

 


	11. [interlude] lying to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> people asked what was in kenny's journal. now you know! just a lil thing i threw down while i finish up some other plot threads. i wanted it to be as sort of natural and stream-of-consciousness as an actual journal might be vs something that's written explicitly for people to read. (translation: it's not very good but i'm rolling with it!) 
> 
> also, as i've been writing some of these stories, i'm experimenting with first-person vs third, etc. so it's gonna hop back and forth a bit. apologies if that's annoying!
> 
> [atom and his package - attention! blah blah blah - "lying to you"](https://open.spotify.com/track/6NMtPtS2cny8xLOueDviEB)

_there comes this point in a billion-hour flight sometimes where straight-up nothing works anymore. saturation point. the usual distractions are no good. it’s like my eyes won’t focus and my ears don’t care about anything that’s happening and i can’t sleep and i ate all of everybody else’s snacks while they were sleeping so here i am in the wrong place at the right time again and i think it was page that told me once to just let it ride. let it run. that trying to shut my brain up does more harm than good._

_i’ve done this a thousand times. made this a thousand times. i could do it in my sleep. fuck. i **have** done it in my sleep._

_so why now? why am i staring out the window into nothing feeling like my skin doesn’t fit?_

_probably you._

_shit. that sounds really dramatic. sorry. fuck. i’m apologizing and you’ll never see this. i’ve never done anything like this before - i mean, you - i mean, reaching out to someone who already knows who i am. and yet you’ve never given me shit about it. it’s almost like you don’t know, or you don’t care. you let me be normal. you let me be myself. gives me something to look forward to._

_i think about you when there’s nothing else that stays. that’s the embarrassing, stupid truth._

Will chuckles a little at the since-debunked misconception, rubs his eyes, and toys with the rubber band around his wrist — sticky and a little stiff with age — as he flops back across the couch. This is clearly Kenny’s travel diary, and a well-loved one at that - it’s dented in the middle from having been folded into too many pockets and one of the spirals is more than a little loose. He always kinda wondered how everybody kept this stuff straight. Many of the entries are straight logistics - how long to X airport from Y hotel, names of restaurants he’s supposed to visit, notes about opponents and previous bouts and phone numbers and email addresses, but as he skims, he finds sentences here and there, complete sentences, a seemingly arbitrary outpouring of emotions. Like this.

The pages behind those first paragraphs are full of shorthand that seems to make no sense —“rabbits w/ party hats”? — and the margins are, as one might expect, full of doodles and ink smudges.

 _it’s been five thousand years_  
_and after five years, it’s gone away, it was gone_  
_and now the only hard feelings that i’ve got are in my front pocket_  
_and don’t let anyone tell you that i’ve had enough of you  
_ _i’d be lying to you_

But then it dawns on Will: these are all things that Ken saved for later and then did for him. Silly youtube videos he sent him when he was having a bad day. Songs from mixtapes he wanted to remember. Snatches of books they read and bickered over.

Behind the list, there’s another stack of crooked paragraphs, this one smeared and angled like a secret, and Will smirks at the thought of Kenny trying to scrawl away in his airplane notebook without getting caught by his seatmates, especially since they’re a little bit, shall we say, salacious.

_can you even say that about someone you’ve never touched? i want him. i know what he likes, i think i know what he likes, and i want to be that boy. he drops hints sometimes without even knowing it - that he likes when people do what they’re told and i’m so glad he can’t see my face then. i feel like it could be like that if i asked but i’m not asking but some nights i want to send him pictures of me on my knees and see if that answers the question neither of us is asking. or worse. sometimes i do things to myself and pretend it’s because he told me to. sometimes he posts this shit that isn’t even that raunchy but there’s this undercurrent that my ego pretends is directed at me like i’m already his._

_his. fuck. i want to belong. period, i want to belong, but when no one is looking, i always add “to him” to that statement. like we’re in junior high and i’m writing his fucking last name on my trapper keeper._

Will breaks down into a fit of giggles and fans himself, then accidentally smacks the notebook against his forehead. One of the metal spirals gets caught in his hair and he yelps when it pulls. He wants to pretend he’d never do anything like that, but the fact of the matter is, he just didn’t know which last name to write.

 _i had a dream last night that everything was collapsing, wreckage and smoke (maybe i shouldn’t say this on an airplane, knock on something) and he held me tight and still as it all fell down but nothing ever touched us. he smelled like leather and jasmine pressed up against my back and i woke up on my side all warm and safe. i’ve woken up sad so many times, gone to bed sad and exhausted so many times, but this is so uncannily empty because i don’t even have memories - the greedy three a.m. parts of me are screaming to know how soft his hair is and what he tastes like. the guys have banned me from texting him too late at night his time - no, seriously, there’s an app on my phone and nick is the only one who knows the passcode. but even_ they _don’t know how bad i’ve got it._

Biting down on his first knuckle, Will can feel himself turning pink and flips awkwardly to the next page as though hiding from an invisible audience. The weirdest part is reading notes about himself - Kenny’s jotted down certain things, a few random bits from their conversations over the past eight-ish months. His favorite color (checkerboard), his favorite AHL team, his birthday.

It’s so strange to see his life laid out like this, in a series of notes. It feels almost intrusive at first, until he realizes he’s done almost the same in one form or another for everyone he cares about. He’s got a whole journal, just not a paper one, that would make him turn about sixteen different shades of red if anyone saw the hundreds of words he’d poured into his kinks, or soup recipes, or how to blend the exact right purple when he dyes Theo’s hair, or the lists of records he bought that day, or the fact that his best friend thinks rosemary tastes like soap bubbles, or a thousand other details he doesn’t want to risk forgetting.

_i’m fucking needy. it should be shameful. it’s all i can do not to ask him to get me at the airport because even if he did, which he would, because he would, i would fucking drop everything and maybe pass out._

_saying i’ve never felt like this before is unfair because in this world basically everything is new every time. but i’ve never had it like this. 237 days since the first time we talked and i still haven’t got what i want. what do i want? i better fucking figure it out because i can’t hold it off any longer._

Will flips through a few more pages, recognizes a few more names and dates. There’s something unexpectedly intimate about another person’s business, even for the mundane — errand lists, “call mom,” debates about what to get for somebody’s baby shower. It makes his chest hurt a little, but he can’t pin down the precise emotion. Some sort of weird domestic envy for these little insights into Kenny's life he never knew he was missing. It's safe, when nothing is ever safe. Ever.

The last written-on page has a notation at the top that's underlined and circled. Six digits. Eight days ago. There's a few things jotted down below it about schedules and obligations but the top line, right below that date, just says, “William!” complete with exclamation point, and he bursts out laughing with joy.

Then his phone pings. New message. Stomach drops. _Changed his mind. Came to his senses — oh my god shut the fuck **up** you're so unhelpful. _

Then he looks back at the last page again, shakes his head and taps the fucking message before he can change his mind. He still screws his eyes shut anyway, like that'll help.

 _Deep breath in_ , he thinks, feeling his chest and stomach lift. _Three. Four. Five._ He breathes out, excruciatingly slow, and repeats a few more times. Finally, he lets his eyes fall open, gradually focusing on the words.

Turns out he's not alone - the text in front of him is visibly anxious, shivering like a wet puppy. He'd laugh if he weren't still a little shaky himself.

_Hey you,_

_I know that was random and weird and super oversharing and if it was too much or not the right thing, I'm so sorry. In the moment it felt like the best way to show you I meant what I said — that I've meant it all along. Thanks for everything, and I can't wait to see what happens next. (assuming I haven't completely freaked you out, of course.) Miss you already, my prince. Okay that was terrible. I'm going to shut up now._

Will feels his mouth twitch a little. He can picture Kenny hunched over his phone, nervously tucking back stray curls, listening to the overhead announcements with one ear. Probably blasting some noisy-ass metal band in the other.

_Ken,_

_I loved it. Almost makes up for all the oversharing I've subjected you to this year. I'm so grateful to be a part of your life, and this was really sweet and made me feel, I guess the best word is ‘included.’ There's a lot I don't know and I can't wait to find it out._

_Ps. Tell those nerds to unlock your phone._

He doesn't get a response right away, but by the clock, they're probably in the middle of boarding anyway. Will rubs his eyes and pries himself off the couch, figuring now’s as good a time as any to go lift some heavy shit and maybe punch a guy or two.

When he goes into the bedroom to change, he gently lays the notebook out on the bedside table. Some sort of charm for, if not good luck, at least better days.

And several hours later, when the sun and Kenny both have made a good part of their journeys away and away, the latter checks in using the plane’s wifi and a frankly hilarious number of smiley faces.

After that, Will finally drifts off, and dreams that night, for the first time in a while.


	12. sun's early rays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This long-distance shit is cute as fuck, but also the pits. Kenny is a nervous wreck about his upcoming match with Okada, but Will gets some good news and also gets his caretaker!dom on. Skype sex/JOI kinda thing. With awkward stripping. And an attempt at sensory deprivation but with safewording, because these two can't get anything right on the first try. And of course there’s lots of feelings, because where would I be without them? 
> 
> soundtrack:  
> [the Max Levine Ensemble - Backlash, Baby! - "Sun's Early Rays"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1kPaOZTFTc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably noticed, there was zero attempt in the early part of this story at fitting any sort of kayfabe timelines whatsoever. From here on out, I can't promise to nail it, but I'm trying to weave a little closer (this is set right before Dominion '17) without getting obsessive to the point where it's no fun. Along those same lines, this is also not exactly how professional fighter licensing works, either, but I'm trying not to be as much of a bureaucrat in fiction as I am in real life ;)

_we were hiding from the sun's early rays_  
_we were waiting as the tides rose up higher_  
_we were hearing of the darkest of days  
when the algae would bloom and poison the water_

 _we were hiding from the sun's early rays_  
_we were patiently awaiting disaster_  
_we were settled in and stuck in our ways  
we were laughing in the faces of scholars_

_and the clouds were passing by..._

Having been alone for so long, six weeks without Kenny was promising to be both brutally hard and completely, almost infuriatingly normal. Adjusting back to sleeping alone was the worst part, but we’d traded t-shirts in the end, and being wrapped up in his smell was pretty solid even on the nights where everything ached. It seemed disproportionate, the way one week with somebody could mess with years of entrenched habits, but then again, the fuck do I know, anyhow? Always figured I was too dumb to be in a relationship again, too nervous to handle the emotional overwhelm, and that was just on  _my_ end, but I woke up every day and there he metaphorically was. Just like he had been long before that parking lot, but with a slightly sharper edge. In some ways, the distance was a blessing, forcing us away from even considering how else things might have gone.

Small changes crept on, bit by bit by bit. I added a dual clock to my phone’s display so I always knew what time it was in Tokyo. He changed his lockscreen to a countdown of how many days were left. The clips of us beating the crap out of each other (for entertainment purposes only, natch) had made their rounds and a bit of the fervor had calmed down. The boys had, with my permission, tagged me as the “random” opponent, but I’d avoided any further identification, and that seemed like a pretty damned fine blessing for the time being. We did, in fact, share calendars, and while we didn’t talk every single day, we gradually began to add regular date nights that mostly consisted of plowing through every single episode of  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ or making puppy eyes at our respective webcams.

What struck me the most was the absolute fucking _innocence_ of the whole thing. Not that he didn’t smirk like a bastard when he called me after a match wearing only a towel and I lost all ability to speak, and not that I didn't get a total kick out of coming up with excuses to show off that day’s fight club bruises to see the delighted look on his face, and not that he didn’t blow me a kiss every time he said goodbye, but it felt like the main focus of these long moments was pure and simple comfort, the best we could give it from where we were. No matter how exhausted I felt, I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, fight the smile every time I opened my eyes and he was there. It was slow, it was sweet, and it was like absolutely nothing I would have ever anticipated myself being a part of in the entire rest of my hellbent bachelorhood. I loved every minute of it.

At nine AM one Friday in June, threatening to sweat through my dress shirt, I made my way on wobbly legs to a terrifyingly blasé office building a few cities over.  _No big deal,_ I kept telling myself, dabbing the sweat off my forehead with my new bandana.  _You’re only going to ruin everything for yourself and every fighter like you who comes after if you fuck this up. No pressure._ I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to wipe them off before giving up and ducking into the men’s room to make myself a little less goddamn sticky.

Then, blessed with the momentary distraction of my phone going off, I swiped onto the screen and turned off the ringer before checking my messages in the hall. It was Matt.

_Hey, I don’t wanna be that guy, but can you call Kenny or something when you get a second? He had a really bad night and—_

The door opened, and I turned the screen off and shoved it into my bag as a tall woman called my name and gestured inside the conference room.

“Mr. Hayashi.” The athletics commissioner looked over his reading glasses at me, and I felt approximately eleven years old all over again as I stood, one sweaty hand grasping the other wrist behind my back as several sets of eyes looked me up and down. “Please, take a seat.”

I forced myself to regulate my exhale, and tugged up the legs of my trousers as I settled into the chair, setting my bag down quietly to the side and unbuttoning my suit jacket. “Yessir. Thank you for having me.”

He nodded. “We have the paperwork your trainer submitted for your license, and the results of your physical exam. However, because this is a… unique situation, we have a few questions.”

I cringed, but caught it just in time so’s to not be too visible and turned it into a nod instead. “Yessir.”

They passed me some paperwork to sign saying that I wouldn’t bullshit them, and I handed over about a thousand copies of the forms my coach and the fight doctor had filled out, along with a series of letters about my medical history.

“Mr. Hayashi, I’m going to be upfront with you: we’ve never had a situation like this before. Obviously, a few years ago we had Ms. Fox, which was controversial in its own way, but you’re the first, um, born-female to apply for a men’s combat sports license in this state, maybe even in the country, and to be frank, we’re not sure why you’d _want_ to.”

“Sir?” I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

He sighed. “Why do you want this, William? You could get seriously hurt.”

I ignored the patronizing tone, set my elbows on the table, and entwined my fingers, forcing myself to slow down before I said something that’d get me tossed out the door. “It’s who I am and what I do, sir. Been doin’ it for twenty years now. I ain’t exactly fragile.”

The younger man in the room gave up the tiniest smile when my drawl came out, and a cautious bolt of optimism hit me right in the spine.

I swallowed. “I have a question for you, sir.” He nodded. I chewed on my words, and swallowed again. “Would you ask me these questions if you hadn’t seen my birth certificate and I was just a five-one featherweight tryina get his license?” He shot me a look; old, old habit kicked in, and I shrank my shoulders a little. “That’s not meant to be impolite or rhetorical, sir. If you have this level of concern for everyone who comes into your office, that’s awful kind, but in this particular instance I’d like to be judged on what I am and not what I used to be.” It sounded a little whiny when it all came out of my mouth, but at least it was out.

The third person on the other side of the table, the tall woman, full-on  _grinned_ at that, and then cocked her head. “Wait a second. I’ve seen you before.” I raised an eyebrow, and she continued with what was almost certainly the absolute barest hint of a twang. “I think it was twitter. Or youtube. Was that a real fight?”

I bit down on my grin so hard it hurt, and answered slowly to keep myself from cracking up. “Yes’m. I mean, pulled strikes, but not planned, if that’s what you mean.”

“And who was your opponent?” Her eyes sparkled. She clearly knew the answer already, but she wanted me to say it.

“Um. Ken Omega, from New Japan Pro Wrestling. He’s the real deal, ma’am. Kind enough to give me a shot.”

“No shit,” said the commissioner, and I blinked hard a few times. “My kid loves him. He’s a heavyweight, right?”

“Yessir. Got about a foot on me, to boot.”

“I'm gonna have to look that one up.” His eyes crinkled. “Did you win?”

“No, sir, but I gave him a hell of a run for his money.”

Suddenly the air didn’t hurt so bad anymore.

* * *

 

I was in the parking lot before I remembered the text, and picked up where I left off, flinging my bag into the passenger seat and leaning my forehead on the doorframe as I squinted in the bright late-morning sun.

_—He had a really bad night, and his head’s not in a great place. We dropped him off but would you mind checking on him too?_

There was another message a few minutes later.

_Fuck. Shit. I forgot today was the hearing. Disregard my bullshit._

I tried to text, but my hands were shaking so badly I kept dropping my phone. I managed to hit a shortcut and the front video camera turned on. Yanking my tie loose, I leaned back hard against a lightpost and tried to talk, but nothing came out for the first several seconds and I punched myself in the chest. “I… fuck! I know it’s the middle of the fucking night but Ken, I did it. They fucking signed off. I’m gonna get my license and I’m gonna fucking fight and it’s all th— okay, like, thirty to fifty percent thanks to you, doll. I’m gonna call you when I get home, I got Matt’s message, just hang on, okay? I got you. I got you.”

I managed to send it to him, with Matt cc’d for good measure, and then it occurred to me it would be fuck-o’clock there by the time I could actually make the call. _Shit._ Pulled over at a gas station a few miles down the hallway to fill up the car and yanked my phone back out. Far too many new messages for any of this to be good news, most likely.

 _thank_   _you baby. can’t sleep. lmk when you’re back?_ (Okay, that was him, but what the fuck was the rest of this shit?)

 _thx + sry for bugging you. and congrats asshole, when you getting that belt?_ (Matt. Aight.)

The rest, as it turned out, were variations on a theme; everyone from my best friend to my parents trying real hard to be the first to know. I stared blankly at the screen, still too fried to even think about words and what order they might go in.

The pump trigger snapped back into place with a loud sound, almost startling me out of my skin. I put the handle back, closed the hatch, and made the executive decision to dive back into the driver’s seat and get my ass home as soon as humanly possible. Deal with it all then. I cranked up the stereo, rolled down the windows, and hit the gas.

Kenny was clearly in a mood when I dialed in from the kitchen; couldn’t seem to hold still for the life of him, looking away and back and rubbing his face and then looking away again, talking at a rate that was almost manic. “I'm so proud of you, you know that? I knew you'd get this, I  _knew_ , and I'm so thrilled to have been there for at least a part of it.” His voice shook a little and I wanted nothing more than to just crush him in my arms.

I realized I was pacing a little myself, and braced on the counter to lean into the camera. “Okay, darlin’, what is going on with you right now? Why is everyone after me in the middle of the damn night…” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew. “Fuck. Okada.”

He nodded. It occurred to me that from several countries away I could still tell he hadn't changed out of his soaking-wet gym clothes. “Tomorrow. I'm… I'm freaking out a little. More than a little.”

“How long?” I asked instinctively, scouring my memories for the past few days.

“A while. Off and on. I didn't want to put it on you while you were waiting on your license, but we were at the gym tonight and it got really real all of a sudden.” He hung his head. “I panicked. It was like as soon as I knew I couldn't get to you because you were driving, and realizing that in 24 hours it'll all be over, everything crashed.”

“Kitten,” I murmured, and he glanced up. I could see the sunrise through the blinds tagging the side of his face. “I just got the best news of my career, after you held me up through some of the worst. Let me take a little off you, okay? Let me carry it.”  _It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done._

“What if I lose?” he dropped out suddenly, voice thick with emotion. “I can't go through that again. I just… I can’t.”

I spoke without thinking. “Yes, you can.”

He looked at me in shock.

I continued, not really sure where I was going with all this just yet. “Do I think you’ll lose?  _Fuck_  no. But if you lose, which is always a possibility, and I’d be disrespecting you to pretend it never happens, would it suck? Hell yes it would. You're so fucking hard on yourself, I know you'd be devastated, but it wouldn't end the world. I should know. Losing is kinda my thing.” Out of instinct, I reached for his face on the screen, only to draw my hand back and cuss when I remembered he wasn't actually there to be touched the way I desperately wanted to. So I blurted out the only comfort I could think of: “Did you eat?”

“Huh?” Kenny slow-blinked at me, and I snickered. The Bucks may have given me a sick new nickname, but something told me I’d never outlive “Dad Friend” Hayashi.

“Did you eat? Or did you go to the gym, work yourself into a fuckin’ lather, get all rode-hard-and-put-away-wet and not even shove something in your face after?”

He blinked again. “That’s… holy  _shit_ , that sounds dirty.”

I coughed to cover a laugh. He was right, but still. “You can take the boy outta Alabama, but you still didn’t answer the damn question, Omega.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Stomach hurts.”

“Did you puke?” I tilted my head down and looked over invisible glasses.

Another headshake, this one silent. Then he bit his lip again. There was a look in his eyes, something positively teeming, and it dawned on me in a red hazy bloom.

“Tell me,” I said gently.

He rubbed his face again, and spoke so, so softly. “I need you. Wish you were here. You're a good distraction.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Miss your hands. And the rest of you.”

“Mm. Miss you too. All the more reason to get you back here in one piece, yeah? So I can touch you again.” I'm not normally the guy who tries to solve all or even most problems with my dick, but the color on his face and the weight of our combined loneliness told me loud and clear that at the very _least_ , the boy needed a level of savoring that Skype couldn't usually offer. Not to mention it was almost never good if the sun was up for both of us.

“When's your call time?” I asked, and he glanced over at his phone.

“Seven.”

I grinned. “Yeah? That's good. Thirty minutes.”

“Hm?”

“You heard me.” I ticked off the salient points with a sharp series of gestures. “Go take a shower. Drink some water, and I swear to fuck if you try and convince me that Monster counts as water, I’m going to find some way to slap you silly via the internet. Eat a damn food, preferably protein  _and_  carbs. I'm calling back in exactly thirty minutes. You don't have to pick up if you don't want to, but if you do, I'm gonna work real hard to wear you out so you can get some goddamn sleep. You hear?”

“Yes sir!” He actually fucking beamed through those tired eyes, and blew me a kiss as I hung up.

 _God, I love video,_ I thought. Every little expression felt like a treasure. The events of the morning had given me enough of an ego boost that I could square my shoulders, breathe deep, and do right.

I took the chance to set a timer, clean up a little, and grab a snack of my own, but kept my dress clothes on, just in case. Then I grabbed a book, and waited. Seventeen more minutes.

* * *

 

He picked up on the first ring, shirtless, mouth full and hair still wet, and proudly showed off the remnants of breakfast in the bowl he held to his bare chest. There was something painfully earnest and innocent about him in these moments, something that made me want to hold him close and make sure he knew everything I was thinking. The best thing in the world I could imagine was petting his hair while he finished eating.

_you’ve got it bad, punk. you’ve got it so bad. get out your own way and hold him close._

All that naivete was quickly set aside when he stood up to clear his dishes and I realized he was wearing the tiniest, fucking _tightest_  jockstrap I’d ever seen in my life. Dark red with mesh panels. And not a damn thing else. And then he turned around with a wink, and all I could do was sputter incoherent noises that eventually coalesced into a stream of profanity.

“Kenny,” I gasped, vaguely aware that I’d clasped my hand over my heaving chest like a caricature of a swooning Southern belle. “Is this okay? We don't have to—”

He curved back around, eyes wide. “Do you not like it? I can, you know. Put more clothes on if you want.” His face was impossible to read, but he relaxed instantly when I started to laugh and I was pretty sure I saw a wiggle in there somewhere.

I pushed my chair back from the table another foot or so, and set my forearms across my thighs, interlacing my fingers as I looked up at him and spoke. “I fucking love it. You're ridiculous, and you're also gonna kill me if you keep this shit up.”

He raised a petulant eyebrow and completed the turn, dragging his fingertips down his chest. “This is what happens when you’re being all bossy but you don't tell me what to wear.”

“Oh, I'm in charge of that now, too?” I grinned. “We're buying you a whole second pair of jeans, then. But not until much later. Right now, you're banned from wearing anything else except nothing until it's time to leave. Now turn back around, I was just enjoying the view.”

He leaned up against the back of his couch and arched his back until I went totally fucking speechless all over again, and then it was his turn to laugh as I bit my knuckles hard enough to leave little white marks behind. The blood rushed to my damp palms as I clenched and then loosened my fists, trying desperately to figure out what to do with my hands and why it  _hurt_ , why I felt so fucking hungry and frantic when all I had to do was get through the next three weeks for a couple of uninterrupted days.

My vision doubled, and when I blinked a few times, Kenny had sprawled back out on the couch and was eyeing me carefully, head tilted.

“It’s fucking  _killing_ me not to touch you,” I finally admitted, shaking my hair away from my face.

He hesitated for a second. “Can I help you out with that?” A little smile, a little more confidence. “Be your hands, maybe?”

Fuck. My chest felt flooded, stalled, completely overrun with relief and heartache. “Is that what you want?”

“What I want,” he confessed, “is for my gorgeous, cocky, wildly successful boyfriend”—we both still paused whenever one of us used that word—“to, as promised, wear me the fuck out. If that means there’s an, um, let’s call it an  _intermediary,_ I’ve got no complaints.”

I smiled and raked my fingers through my hair. “You’re giving me ideas for later. But for now…”

“Please,” he begged, dragging the word out through hard-bitten lips. “I didn't say anything before because I didn't want to push but please, I want this.”

“Then do it for me, good boy,” I drawled. “Do you want it here, or do you want it in bed?”

“Oh, fuck. Yeah. That’s… that’s a really good idea. Hang on.”

The feed cut out for a second, and when it came back again, he was laid out like a work of art, so gorgeous that I had to close my eyes for a second. Bulge in one hand, he looked up at the selfie camera on his tablet and unconsciously bit his lip again as he adjusted it to just the right angle. I felt a wave of dizziness at the emotion unmasked in those seconds of concentration; he was nervous, and happy, and so, so willing.

“You're perfect,” I sighed, and he wriggled a little before brushing his fingers gently over the front of the jockstrap. “ _Fuck_ yes, that's amazing. Thank you for letting me see you like this.”

“Thank you for being with me,” he stammered, and I blushed. “I hate getting in bed by myself. Hate it. I can’t sleep anyway and I’m so fucking lonely and it just spirals around until I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Never again, then,” I said, shocked by my own boldness, and he looked up sharply. “Never fucking again. Not on my _fucking_ watch, you hear me? I don’t give a fuck if I have to lock myself in a storage closet at work to put you to bed when you feel like this. But you have to tell me, okay?”

He nodded firmly. “Thank you.”

“Tilt your head back.” He gave me a questioning look, and I responded without thinking, “I want to see you. All of you. And it starts with that pretty throat.”

Kenny let out a visible tremble and did as he was told, letting his hands drift down his torso.

“I didn’t tell you to touch yourself,” I said gently. The temptation to bite the words off, to make him shiver a little more, was loudly and voraciously present, but I pushed it back down for the time being. This wasn’t about me. I could wind him up anytime we both wanted, but right now winding  _down_  was more the order of the day.

He started to stutter an apology, but I smiled and interrupted him. “Cover your eyes.”

When his face snapped wide open in a mix of confusion and delight, I repeated myself. “Cover your eyes. I just want you to listen. One thing at a time, since you’re having a little trouble following instructions.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise—”

“Child, you’re not in trouble.” I waited a moment while a little of the tension started to drain out of his chest and shoulders. “You’re never in trouble, unless you want to be.”

When he spoke again, his voice had changed completely, and he sounded terrified. “Please don’t make me. Please. I’ll do it but please don’t make me.”

I choked. My focus changed in an instant, like being thrown into cold water. “Safeword?”

He didn’t speak for a long time, but his body shook and he covered his lower face with his hands. “Yeah. I just need a minute. I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

I reached for him again and almost knocked my tablet over. “No, no, no. Don’t be.  _I’m_  sorry. I was trying to be cute and—”

“I should have told you,” he mumbled. “I should have told you, but I thought it would be different. I wanted to make you happy.”

“Ken. You know what makes me happy?” He looked up and locked eyes, so I plowed ahead. “Making you feel good. Making you feel safe. And I know we’re still a couple of bumbling fucking idiots, and by that I mean just me, so thank you for speaking up. You did good. Now I know. I’m just sorry, real sorry, that I had to find out by being a dumbass first.”

“I want to, you know?” he blurted out. “It sounds so fucking  _hot._ I think about it all the time when… you know. But in real life, I apparently just freak out.”

“Hey, no, that makes perfect sense, okay? I’m not leaving you alone in the dark, but it’s okay if you don’t know that yet, or ever.” I was rushing my words, trying so hard to be cautious but still get it all across.  _You’re safe. You’re loved. This is more than okay._

“Can we…” He swallowed. “You don’t have to stop. I don’t  _want_  you to stop. I just can’t do this thing. But maybe next time I see you, for  _real_ see you, we can try to work up to it?”

I nodded. “If that’s what my boy wants, that’s what my boy gets. You wanna be all strapped down and burning up, I’m gonna do my best to try’n fucking give it to you.”

He blushed, and trailed his fingers up his inner thighs, brushing the scraps of fabric he still had on.

“Do you want me to do it first?” I asked on a whim, carefully studying his face for even the barest hint of a no. “I’m a little rusty, but I could try.”

“First?” He cocked his head, and I pulled at the knot on my tie, still trying to figure out exactly where all this was going. His eyes widened in recognition. “You’d do that?”

“Fuck yeah, I would,” I grinned. “But you’re gonna have to be extra loud for me, and you’re gonna have to tell me all the things you think about, too. Does that sound fair?”

He groaned and sank back into the blankets. “More than.”

“Good. But my greedy ass wants to see you first, so fucking  _strip._  If you don't mind.”

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jock, and did just that. I took a long, lingering glance at his naked body, not even pretending to hide the want on my face. “Fuck, I missed this. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He smirked. “You got your look, now get on with it.”

“Bossy, bossy.” But I shook out my tie, pushed my chair a little further back to make sure he could see the whole picture, and held the fabric over my eyes, plunging myself into darkness. “Holy shit.”

“Are  _you_ okay?” he asked, a little quaver in his voice.

“Oh, honey, I am finer than fine. This is interesting, to say the least.”

“Now, when you say  _rusty_ …” he trailed off, waiting for me to finish.

“Never. Not once.”

I heard a huff. “Such a top.”

“Aw, c’mon. It just never came up. You know firsthand that I don’t mind going under every now and again if the company’s right.” I tapped my collarbones and hoped he was blushing. “Besides, if you keep sassing me, you don’t get to know what this feels like, and I bet you’re dying to find out.”

Kenny cursed under his breath, and I took that as a signal to continue. “It’s like every fucking hair on my body just stood up on end at once. I’ve got fucking goosebumps. It’s killing me not to be able to see you, but  _picturing_ you has my heart going so damned fast I’m surprised you can’t hear it out loud.” I ran my hands up my chest, untucking my shirt in the process, and began feeling for the collar as delicately as I could. I heard a groan, and cocked my head in an unasked question as I continued to strip.

“Is it — is it good?” he finally choked out, voice heated.

I grinned. “Pretty damn. Kinda nice not to have to worry about what I look like for once in my fuckin’ life. Makes you not bein’ here a little more tolerable.” Shoving my unbuttoned shirt over my shoulders, I let it fall, then pulled my A-shirt over my head and did the same. Kenny let out a quiet gasp. “With that said, this better be cute,” I muttered, fumbling with my belt, and we both laughed.

“Oh, it’s  _more_ than cute,” Kenny teased, and then sucked in a breath as I pulled the leather out through the loops and just let it clatter to the kitchen floor, shortly followed by my trousers. I made at least a quarter-assed attempt to lower myself back into my chair in a semi-sexy manner, only to miss the seat by a couple of inches, stagger, and almost land on the kitchen floor. Laughter pealed from both of us as he wheezed, “I mean, you’re really bad at this stripping thing, but ends and means, or something.”

“Hey, I’d like to see  _you_ pull this off with your eyes closed!” I ran my fingertips up my body, willing myself to settle again, to find my space in the dark. It was easier and quicker than I imagined for time to fly, thinking about the boy in front of me and his beautiful, sweet face, and those fucking  _hands._ The way he tried to touch me everywhere at once, wrapped himself around me, gave me every inch of sweat and skin and wide-eyed devotion. I toyed with the waistband of my boxers, slipped a hand past, and heard a slick sound from the other end of the line that put a big smile on my face. “I hear that. Is that what I think? Didn’t you promise to be loud for me?”

A long inhale. “Fuck. Will. Please. I— you look so good like that, I just wish I could put my mouth all over you.”

“Mm. Tell me what you’re doing right now. Tell me everything.” I leaned back, and slid my shorts off, reveling in the desperate noises from the other end of the line.

“I, um. I’m stroking my cock. Is that okay? Please, _please_ tell me that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect,” I groaned, spreading my thighs and slowly making my way to my own dick. “That ain’t all, is it? Because I may not be an expert, but those sounds coming out your mouth are something  _else_.”

“I…” Deep breath, and then it all came out in a rush. “I’m fucking myself right now.”

“Yeah?” Holy  _shit_ , was I wet, and gently held myself in a couple of fingers before continuing. “How many? One? Two? Or is it one of your toys? I  _know_  you have ‘em.”

“Oh  _fuck_ ,” he whispered, like I’d found out a secret. “Three. I couldn’t wait any longer, I just couldn’t.”

“Three?” The pride rang out in my voice before I could stop it. “What a good fuckin’ boy you are.” Shades of the first time, only a few feet from here, three-odd weeks and a lifetime ago. “You must really need this. Maybe even more than I do.” I carefully slid an experimental finger inside myself, then another, rocking my hard dick against the heel of my hand. The sensation was intense, but far from unpleasant, and from the sounds he was making, it must not’ve looked half-bad either.

“Please, show me, show me, let me see you,” he pleaded. When I leaned back a little more and canted my hips up to the screen, he sighed deeply. “God, you are a _sight,_ my handsome fucking man, I'm so lucky I get to see you like this but I would give a lot of fucking things to be able to taste it for myself again. Doing it  _for_ you is amazing but it feels so much better when you do it…”

He trailed off, clearly distracted, and I picked back up with a growl.

“Oh, you keep on fucking yourself all sweet like that for me, you will definitely get that opportunity." I _heard_  him shiver and twitch as I dropped my head back and moaned, lost in my own bare consciousness for god only knows how long.

“Will?” A voice through the haze. I opened my eyes. Blackness. _Right. No shit._

“What’s up, darlin’?” My whole body ached.

“Can you look at me now? I miss your face.”

The corner of my mouth quirked of its own volition, and I carefully closed my eyes before slipping the tie off my head and blinking a few times. Big blue eyes came into focus and I smiled again before a heavy jolt of arousal ran up my spine at the sight of him curved around himself, fingers buried deep, hair splayed out across the pillow.

“Missed you, beautiful. Good to be back.”

Kenny’s eyes dropped half-closed. “Thank you,” he breathed. “You look so good like that. Maybe someday I can, too.”

Something had clicked with that, and the words spilled fast and freely as we both writhed under our own hands and he fucked himself harder with each sentence. “Yeah? You want to drop down for me like this? You want to know in every  _fucking_ nerve ending that I’m right there with you even if you can’t see it with your own eyes? You wanna trust me that bad?”

“I do, I do, I do, please.” Hoarse and reckless.

 _Holy fuck._  I was so close to the edge that it hurt. “Say that again.”

“Please, please, Will, I want that—” and that was all it took.

Done was not a strong enough fucking word. I collapsed in my chair, soaked in my own mess, but I just couldn’t fucking stop _talking_ , couldn’t stop running my mouth as he laid out and took it, fucking _took_ it for me.

“I will fucking bring you there, boy. I will take you as far as I know you can go, wherever that turns out to be. Fuck, Ken, you have to come for me, I fucking need it and I know you do too.” He went near-limp and that only spurred me on. “You need this, get all that stress and all that loneliness and all that emotion fucked right out of you somehow. We both need it and if I can't do it for you right now, you gotta do it for me. Can you? Can you, please?”

At that, he exhaled hard, and came all over himself with a beautiful series of soft cries.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear my mouth tastes like you,” he mumbled through the aftershocks, and my heart burned from the tenderness of it.

“That’s because I’m right fuckin’ there with you, love. Like I am right now. I promise.” I stopped and rubbed my jaw. “That was supposed to sound romantic, and not like I'm some sort of creepy face-sitting astral projection.”

Kenny's eyes closed. “Why are you like this?”

“You mean ‘how did I get so lucky?,’ right?”

He didn't even hesitate, although he did grin a little. “Of course.”

We both rolled away for a moment to clean up, and when I returned, he was nuzzling into a pillow and making sweet sleepy noises that threatened to tear my heart to pieces. I watched him wind down, the urge to pet the screen still readily apparent but a little less sharp than before. He turned the lamp almost all the way down and hugged the blanket to his chest as I started to say goodnight.

“Aren't you going to tell me to win?” he slurred through exhaustion.

I shook my head. “Nah. I'm gonna tell you what we say in my family: do your best and come out alive.”

“I like that one.”

“Now go on and get some sleep. We'll be watching on TV, but Ken?”

“Mmhmm?” His eyes were barely open, and he pulled the covers up around him.

“No matter how it turns out, I'm proud of you the same, and you know it." 

He wriggled. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. Come out alive for me, okay?”

“Of course,” he said with charming seriousness, continuing to drift off. “I'm coming  _home_.”

 

 _we had heard of the tears running down from the faces_  
_of the giants that loomed from the top of the glaciers_  
_when a warning rang out, it was the buzzing of bees  
but like the call of the arctic, we just could not believe it, _

 _and the clouds all rolled up, each had something to say_  
_they were raining down impertinent knowledge_

_and we just watched as they passed by_

_and then the sunrise filled the sky_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original soundtrack was  
> [Less Than Jake - In With the Out Crowd - "Hopeless Case"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a15WT0iNqCE) because, well:  
>  _you, you don't see me that way_  
>  _you hear the words that I say_  
>  _you just tell me my heart's in the right place_  
>  _it's the world that's confused_  
>  _and it's never too late to save a hopeless case_
> 
> but then I got homesick AF and decided TMLE was the appropriate solution :)


	13. ...while you're alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's career starts to take off a little bit, and he makes a new friend. The boys get back together for G1 USA. There's angst about relationship publicity as well as bad car karaoke, the perils of travel in your thirties, and porn.
> 
> soundtrack: Jeff Rosenstock - WORRY. - ["...While You're Alive"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYzsTg_1ht8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took me thirteen fucking chapters to use the song that I named this entire universe after!
> 
> The next several chapters were originally one big-ass 10k+ storyline, but then I split it up for the sake of readability and somehow that just made it worse. Here there be lots of feelings, mushy and angsty ones alike. I apologize in advance.

_when you're a ghost, when you’re a ghost  
_ _they'll sit around and talk about how they liked you the most_

 _when you're a dream, when you’re a dream  
__i'll wake up to warm sunrays that make me wanna scream_  

 

Once I got my license, it was a matter of time before some local promotions came calling, but what I did _not_ expect was to have everybody from _Out_ to ESPN asking for “a few questions.” Completely overwhelmed and terrified of fucking it all up, I’d called Kenny, and he gave my number to an old friend of his who lived not far from here and had the motormouth to match the manic energy of his Napoleonic scheming. Rocky Fucking Romero was also, as it turned out, pretty goddamn brilliant at public relations, which was probably the point, and it wasn’t long before he came to visit. For a few marvelously confusing days, I was dragging him with me to pretty much every event as my “agent,” air quotes included. Crafting questions and hypotheticals, he watched me like a hawk, ready to swoop me out of the room with some supposedly urgent matter or another like a sparkly Nick Fury the instant my eyes started to glaze.

I was far from famous, that’s for sure, but the news spread pretty quickly and the reception wasn’t nearly as terrible as I’d feared — Rocky and I did a ridiculously fun “day in the life” segment with a local sports blog that started out in my apartment, quickly moved to the gym, and ended in an unironic dose of chaos. It turned out I did some of my best talking while trying to pass guard, because I couldn’t overthink, and so Rocky got in this habit of just decking me from behind when I started to stutter or go all deer-in-headlights. I’d feel him coming, duck out of the way, and roll him over my shoulder or out on the mat while breathlessly talking shit about my childhood or whatever, and then he’d try to kick me in the head while the interviewer and our cohorts scattered out of striking range.

That night, he managed to accidentally drench me in champagne, and I in turn managed to “accidentally” shove his face in a box of cupcakes, and the headline image for the article turned out to be him climbing on my back like a spider monkey while I tried to scrape frosting and sweat out of my eyebrows. Needless to say, my family was a little less than impressed at my alleged professionalism, but still made sure to ask politely whether _that_ was the new boyfriend they’d heard so much about. Also very polite were the bartenders who asked us to leave a very fancy cocktail lounge while Rocky was still trying to clean crumbs off his jacket from the cake-shoving. I wasn’t totally sure that this level of shenanigans was the most accurate representation of my life as somebody trying to get paid for this, but being covered in alcohol and buttercream made it a lot harder to be anxious even though the smell lingered for longer than made me strictly comfortable.

Clips from the various interviews got picked up by the Huffington Post and a few other outlets. In the era of compilation “share post” news, that answered a lot of the questions without actually having to answer them, and we literally moved too fast to give me the chance to freak out just yet. Rocky was, to say the least, an absolute genius; even profoundly hungover and draped across the back of my couch like a cat, he managed to finagle all of this into a very sudden interview with UFC. Eyepatch askew, he hinted very strongly that if I managed to _not_ fuck it up, it could easily lead me to at least a dark match. And not fuck it up I did, although the whole damn thing still went pretty much in one ear and out the other and I was more than a little grateful that he’d offered to drive.

I was still recovering from the shock when I got the call — they did indeed want me on the preshow at their next event in Vegas in July. It wasn’t a lot of prep time, but I was going up against one of the other least experienced pros on the roster, and somebody I really liked, at that, so there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d say no. The Joker was a hell of a striker, a damned fine grappler, and a good guy with _really_ great hair to top it all off; we’d actually met on a couple of previous occasions when he’d stopped at my gym on his way through town. He was tall, and patient, and frankly gorgeous, and even if I got my ass whipped in my pro debut, it couldn’t be by a nicer guy. I ended up, with Rocky’s encouragement, calling Pete myself to deliver the news. We jokingly promised no first-round KOs, and expressed our mutual excitement before the sound of kids yelling in the background pulled him away from the phone. And then I called Kenny, and maybe shrieked a little.

Once the contracts were signed and the details were settled, Rocky headed back home, and in what felt like seconds, I was talking to Kenny on video as he packed for the G1 USA in Long Beach. One thing at a time. The prospect of having my significant other stateside once again was nearly throttled by the anxiety of a very, very long drive and whatever the fuck I was even supposed to _do_ when we got there, and when he finally shoved the last pair of shorts into his suitcase and sat down, I was pacing around the living room, notebook in hand. He, on the other hand, seemed calm. Too calm. Way too calm. Illegally calm. _Is that even a thing—?_

“Okay, you’re gonna burn a hole in the coffee table if you don’t stop thinking so hard.” His voice interrupted my inner monologue, and I slumped back against the cushions.

“Yeah? Yeah. I know. Yeah.” Mind racing.

“You’re really stressed about this, aren’t you?” He seemed genuinely bewildered. “Like, more than I am, even.”

“Maybe. Just a little bit.” I was having trouble getting enough oxygen in my lungs for complete sentences. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“What do you mean? You don’t have to do anything. Just show up and cheer and maybe wave at the cameras.” He grinned, and I tried to smile back but it all felt kinda sickly and nauseating.

“Well, that’s it, ain’t it? I feel like there’s a lot of… logistics at play here.”

“Like what?”

I sighed more dramatically than originally intended, and shook my head. “Seriously? You’re one of the most famous dudes in the world. I’m your idiot boyfriend no one except some of our friends knows about. It’s not like I can just show up at the airport with a sign. Hell, I don’t even know if you want me to.”

“Why not? I’ll tell everyone you’re my bodyguard.” He winked, and I wanted to laugh and also throw up.

“I’m sorry, but can you please be serious for a moment?”

He squinted in thought. “I am… not entirely sure what we’re talking about. You are, in fact, my boyfriend. If you want to get me at the airport and drag me around town, that’s your prerogative.”

“It’s really not, though. Do you _want_ me there with you? Is there, like, a fifteen-foot radius I have to observe? What if there’s people there? I’ve seen that shit before, people camping out at the baggage claim trying to get pictures and stuff. You don’t need to be wrangling me on top of all that.” _Me of all people_ , I didn’t say.

“I told everyone I'm coming in the day after I actually am, so that ought to help.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Is that what you’re worried about? That people are going to bother me, or us?”

The deep breath I took did nothing to settle my nerves. “Look, you’re… private. You’ve always been private. Look at _us,_ for fuck’s sake, you didn’t even tell me your name! I don’t want you to end up on the front page of some dirtsheet with masters-level research on our relationship unless that’s exactly the risk you’re okay with.” I tugged on a stray lock of hair, and he nodded. _Fuck. I gotta go to the barbershop. None of this fuzzball shit for the big one, I know that damned much at least._ “You know how people are. I’m worried it’s gonna be ugly.”

“For you, or for me? Both of us?”

“Both. It’s fucking scary, Ken. I don’t know what people are gonna do or say. I’ve been more than happy to ride out the honeymoon phase as long as I can, but this is a bit of a call to action, you know? I have zero experience being in the public eye until like, two whole weeks ago, and even then, nobody really gives a shit outside of a very small niche who still wouldn’t recognize me at the grocery store. My fucking _landlord_ didn’t make the connection until the neighbors complained about Rocky trying to moonsault off the fire escape.”

He snorted. Okay, we both did, just a little. “I mean, I’m no better, but you know that. I'm greedy, I miss you, and if it's up to me, I don't want to have to keep you halfway across the room on the off chance that somebody might possibly give a shit about who I'm walking with. Anyway, my instinct is to go full-on _Dirty Dancing_ as soon as I see you in the baggage claim, but something tells me that might get me socked in the ribs.”

“You would be absolutely correct.”

“What if you _did_ have a sign, though? Would there be glitter?”

“ _Focus,_ Kenneth.”

 

* * *

 

We settled on no sign — I’m perfectly acceptable at a lot of things, but arts and crafts just ain’t one — and he booked a ticket to the closest airport to my house; it seemed easier to just pick him up and let him sleep in the backseat, since I’d have to make the drive either way. As a bonus, no one was looking for him several hours from Long Beach, and he got _most_ of his dramatic-ass moment of greeting, scooping me up for a careful kiss on my clean-shaven cheek before I insistently grabbed his suitcase and he practically skipped ahead of me to the sliding doors, glancing back like he needed to know I was still there. I felt dizzy, the way I often did when I saw his face, and the added harshness of the airport lighting so early in the morning made me close my eyes and shake my head a time or two. It hurt a little, physically hurt, but the ache of my heart against my ribcage was a masochist’s wet dream.

The shakiness abated somewhat once I sat down in the driver’s seat with our stuff in the trunk; pacing in the airport for the previous forty-five minutes had, as it turns out, done absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. I put the key in the ignition, looked over, and there he was. There he fuckin’ was, real and solid and warm in the sunshine and oh my _god_ , my chest creaked with need.

Before I could stop myself, I dug my fingers into his hair and looked him right in those big blue eyes. He leaned in, and I kissed him, first almost too gentle to be felt, and then so hard I thought he was going to flinch away. Wouldn’t have blamed him. Instead, he melted into my hands, wrapping his own around my hips and breathing sweetly against my mouth as he kissed me back, dry-lipped and shivery.

“Missed you,” I tried to say, but it came out in a hoarse stutter.

He pulled me across the center console and held me tight, turning to bury his face in my hair. “Missed you, too.”

"Still not letting you run the stereo," I muttered in return, and he bit his lip with a soft smirk as he drew back, resting his hand just above my knee. I turned to the wheel and started the engine, drumming my fingers on his for a brief second. The music kicked back in right where I’d left it in mid-song, and I shifted into gear as I murmured along and shimmied a little.

 _(i_ _wanna let you know when you’re alive_  
_cause everybody loves you when you die  
_ _but when it matters, they’re not there, not there)_

Turning my head to check for cars behind us, I saw him cover his mouth with his other fist, shoulders shaking with barely-repressed laughter. “Quiet, you.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Whatever, you fucking love my singing.” I finished backing out and put the car into first.

“I know you won’t believe me, given the circumstances, but I totally do.”

I turned the volume up to "ludicrous" and belted as I pulled out of the lot, reaching over to pantomime at him for all I was worth. Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face even as he cracked, giggling helplessly and holding onto my leg for dear life.

 _(i gotta let you know when you’re alive_  
_cause i’ll be a disaster when you die  
_ _chubby body, no hair, don’t care)_

Time flew, the windows went down, the breeze knocked my hair around and combed through his curls, and we ran through a half-dozen playlists on both our phones and a simply massive pile of snacks before I finally pulled up to the overhang of our hotel. He kissed my cheek and went to check in, grabbing both of our bags despite my protestations. _Two nights. Ish,_ I thought to myself as I backed into a nearby parking space and gathered up the leftover snack wrappers to pitch into the lobby trash can. _Almost 48 hours for us, and then the fun begins._

The hotel room door opened with a click, and I dragged my reclaimed backpack inside, sighing in relief at the cool air pouring out of the vents. And, of course, my phone went off.

 **Rocky:** _yall partyin tonight? Me and Trent are gonna try and get thrown out of the Brit and I know you’re early_

He always bookended his texts with these strings of emojis that probably meant something to someone, but it sure as hell wasn’t me.

I replied, _you say that now, but when you see the bartenders, you’ll never wanna leave._

Then I added, _taking it easy I think. tomorrow maybe?_

Rocky replied with another incoherent emoji stream that I took to mean something along the lines of _sure, why not,_ and I rolled my eyes and turned off the ringer.

I didn’t even make it halfway across the room, barely able to put my bag on a chair before I felt strong arms around my waist, cackling as the heels of my boots left the carpet. “Do not fucking carry me, I swear to god I’ll kill you.”

“Suplex it is, then,” he announced cheerfully, squeezing me tight again. I still got nervous about being picked up, but not nearly as much as I used to; we’d had an astonishingly intricate conversation one night about the dynamics of cueing that left me much more reassured. It turned out it wasn’t so much the “feet off the floor” part as it was the “surprise,” although he was definitely the one of us who found it most delightful; I could feel him moving all slow and deliberate like a big cat as he centered my weight and scooped me onto the mattress, crawling on top to let his hair hang down over our faces. Then his hand was along my jaw, and then his mouth was too, trailing soft little kisses down my chin and neck and throat. I shuddered and arched up into him, sore and bruising with need at the heated little spots he left behind as I scrabbled at the duvet and then the muscle of his hips. 

I realized faintly that I was begging—for his touch, his mouth, that the _kissmekissmekissme_ ringing out in my head was not just in fact in my head—and flushed with shame at my weakness, only to throw my head back and look up into those wide saintly eyes, the way they warmed at the corners when I asked for it. He was my true other half in that moment: bold, honest, confident in his want, everything I was too exhausted and nervous to be.

He rolled down beside me and both of us simultaneously cringed. When you get to be a certain age, with what we do, even lust ain't enough to drain the stiffness from your joints after being stuck in an enclosed space for that many hours in a row. 

I twisted my back, trying to untangle my lats, and Kenny rubbed absently at his knees before sliding his hands to the base of my neck and digging into one of the knots he found. I let out a frankly embarrassing sound in relief, and he turned to his suitcase, sitting up on the edge of the bed while I trailed my fingertips along the skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

We were, as noted from previous encounters, just terrible at actually getting around to having sex. What we were great at, on the other hand, was hot showers and assisted stretches, both of which sounded at least as good as fucking and sure as shit produced many of the same noises, maybe even at a greater volume. If I got to wake up in the same bed as him, I'd give up an awful lot of other immediate things, that's for sure. _Might not even notice they were missing, at least for the moment,_ I thought, rubbing small tiger-balm circles onto the twitchy parts of his shoulders.

The slow wind down had us both breathing easy by the end, but I forced my eyes open, cradling him in my arms and stroking his hair as he nuzzled into my neck. When the tiniest snores started to emerge, I kissed his forehead and sank into the white noise of the room.

( _listening to heartbeats slowing down as we keep growing old, yeah)_

I woke up to him spooned into my back, arms wrapped tight around my waist. He was kissing lines down my shoulder blade, and the filthy groan he let out when I stretched and shifted skipped across my skin like electricity. There was that begging thing just under my breath again, in a voice I hardly recognized, and when he pulled up and kissed the base of my neck, I went limp. I dug my fingers into his forearms, leveraging against him to push myself back as close as I could. When one of those arms dropped, fingers easing me open, I cried out, unable to decide between pressing my ass to his hard warm body behind me or grinding myself forward on the edge of that hand between my legs.

 _Oh thank fuck you both washed the menthol off your hands like eight times_ , I realized, and couldn't contain a laugh. He pulled me in tighter, and I wound myself between all of him, cursing as he laid his fingers out flat and stroked my dick between two of them. I was already soaked _how did I even get like this, wet in my fucking **dreams**_ and pressed my palm to the back of his hand, asking for more and thrilled when he instantly gave, tangling with me and urging our bodies forward.

His other arm was still strong around my waist, tucking my hip into his elbow, but as he let that free hand wander up my ribcage to carefully stroke at my nipples, I swore again and wound one hand behind me into his hair. The motion, arching my back and pulling my muscles taut, only intensified every sensation, and I could barely breathe through the sleepy tendrils of arousal.

When he finally spoke enough to say  _please_ , I didn't know what he was asking for and would have given him absolutely fucking anything. Everything. I could feel him leaking all over the small of my back, both of us struggling to keep focus, and it was all I could do not to crack up when I freed my top hand and tried to coil it over his arm and behind me, stopped just short of his cock by my admittedly lackluster reach. At that, he actually whined, trying so hard to fuck into my fingertips without letting the rest of me go.

After a few seconds, I could feel him shaking his head, and then lips on the nape of my neck as he guided my hand back into a more comfortable place. “Fuck this. I mean, fuck _me_.” He ground against my back for a moment and pleaded, tone skirting dangerously close to what I could only describe as bratty. “You have to come for me. I need it, I've been waiting long enough and I _need_ it, I need you to fuck my hand until you soak me, I need you to come, please, god…”

He trailed off as a possessive little snarl started to bubble in my chest, something more felt than heard and that quickly took a sharp turn into laughter.

“So demanding. You're so fucking _bossy_ , Kenneth. Is this what you get up to when I'm away? Passes for good behavior?” I stuttered on the last word or two as he stroked my dick again and tried to curl inwards on myself, only to be stopped by his arms.

“ _No_ ,” he half-gasped, lashes brushing my neck as his eyes popped open wide, and I grinned at the drama in his voice. It was precious and vulnerable and absolutely everything and holy _fuck_ he felt so good, all sweat and skin and callused fingertips. He was full-on rutting against my ass now, desperate for any kind of friction, and the urge to cant my hips, reach back again and just guide him inside, in a way I hadn’t been fucked in about a million years, crept up my body like a heatwave. _Oh damn. Hold that thought. Hold that th—_

He switched his grip on my cock, gently sliding it between thumb and forefinger, and I lost it entirely, crying out and doing my best to double over as I came, thighs clenched tight around his fingers. Before he could say a word, I turned around and absolutely buried myself in him, feeling the wetness from my cunt spread onto his thigh and instinctively slicking it onto his shaft while I kissed him like the world was coming to an end. Breath coming in little noisy moments, eyes half-open, shivers running up my spine when he pulled me in tight again, and I curled my hips in to let his thick heat rub against my tingling, hypersensitive lower half as I stroked the head of his cock.

I realized I was still talking, panting little phrases into his mouth in strings of emotion that barely counted as words, telling him how much I missed him, how good he felt in my hands, and every hint of praise made him breathe that much harder. My other hand gripped the nape of his neck as I spoke, pulling him firmly into me, and he shuddered visibly at the authority of the contact. Finally, he groaned out a warning; a moment later, I felt the heat of his orgasm spread across my lower belly and smiled quietly against his lips as he broke the kiss to gasp for air.

Strong hands guided me to my back and spread my thighs, and I jolted at the first hot breath between them, still barely on the edge of coming down. He stopped instantly, murmuring into the skin just above my knee. “Okay?”

I nodded into the dim, reaching down to slide my fingers through the mess we’d made. “More than.” I made sure he was watching as I carefully licked at my fingertips, and in response buried his face between my thighs, devouring our combined sweat and come like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. The sight alone, let alone the _noises_ he made, was more than enough for my arousal to flare up again, and I dug my fingers through sweaty curls into his scalp, baffled as always by how easily he moved in response. Letting me set the pace, fucking up against the flat of his tongue, wound me up tightly all over again, but the second was more like a wash of relief, the breaking-down of an emotional floodgate that left me teary-eyed and helpless. When he kissed me afterwards, tongue flicking patiently at my lips until I opened up to take him, sharp taste spread out on soft edges, I pulled him in as close as I could get, fuck the height difference, fuck physics, fuck anything except getting every inch of his skin as close as humanly possible to every inch of mine.

“Fucking missed you,” he said between kisses, for about the thousandth time, and for about the thousandth time, I understood exactly what he meant.

 

 


	14. come on, come on, come on, get outta here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody outs the two nerds. Will… does not handle it very well. Luckily, they have crowdsourced public relations. (Although “luckily” may not be the right word.) There’s a panic attack and some stress-puking and everyone is flirting with everyone for some reason. Kenny makes a big confession. Will handles that... about as well as he handles everything else.  
>    
> [Jeff Rosenstock - WORRY. -"Perfect Sound Whatever"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gkpv9z8B238) / ["Wave Goodnight to Me"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7MPzv78cWs)

_when i'm aching for their respect_  
_i won't abandon anything_  
_when i'm shaken awake by regrets  
_ _i'll try to just get back to sleep_

 _perfect always takes so long_  
_because it don't exist  
_ _it doesn't exist_

 

When I stirred again, my phone was flashing bright enough to wake the dead, and I swatted at it a few times before actually managing to turn the screen on. And then I saw the missed call. The text. The link.

 **Polly:** _You should read this but you should also sit the fuck down first. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to be the last to find out._

It was a thread. A very, very long thread, from some dirtsheet I used to read once upon a time before I realized I rather enjoyed suspending my disbelief instead. I took a quick glance, and felt my stomach churn as I saw a string of pictures, captions, and screenshots. _Jesus fucking Christ._ I scrolled back up and started reading in numb, detailed horror.

It was everything I'd been afraid of and then some. The shot of us together at the gym, me shirtless, his arm around my waist. The less-than-surreptitious tweets. Screenshots of literally every post of mine he’d ever liked or commented on from his main— _what the fuck? Do you people not have hobbies?_

Crowd shots from the event photographer of me in the front row, wearing his t-shirt. Fine. Whatever. I brought that one on myself. Sorta. I sure wasn't the only one wearing his shirt that night, even if I was definitely the only one wearing _his_ shirt.

I tried to reason with myself: no expectation of privacy there; that’s what we got for not thinking it through; how stupid was I for thinking no one would put it together?

One _very_ clear photo of the moment where he’d been tossed into the guardrails and grabbed for me. My knees hurt with the ghost of a memory of how I’d landed on the floor, face pressed to his as he tried to catch his breath before being yanked away from me again and I could feel my lip curling into a snarl at the memory. It would’ve looked like a fucking Renaissance painting if the intent weren’t so physically painful.

The worst, though, were the creepshots. _Someone_ had taken pictures of me folding merch after the show, helping the Bucks carry Ken out of the ring.

Nope. Wait. Definitely not the worst.

That was still coming.

Some of the tweets had been deleted or removed, but it was clear from the context, the responses, and my inbox that I’d been doxxed. It looked like someone had run a full background, gotten all my court filings, my name change, even my phone number, as my texts were full of the same. Fuzzy photos, articles, accusations, epithets of all kinds I’d hoped to never hear again, threats I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, most with a tone of viciousness that chewed angrily at my esophagus.

_You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anything. You’re a lying goddamn snake who keeps good things from other people. You are living proof that all of this is fake and bullshit. Who hired you to parade around and piss everyone off, and when will they tell you to quit._

That’s the polite version.

I’m not a great human being. I’ve made a lot of choices that could be very generously described as questionable. I’ve caused a lot of pain, enough that making amends has been the longest goddamn part of this shady-ass journey. _It’s not that bad, it’s not that bad, it was gonna happen someday, it’s not that bad, you should’ve been more careful, it’s not that bad._  

But when I saw the long-haired, junkie-thin picture from my old driver’s license, I very calmly set my phone down, walked across to the bathroom, and threw up until nothing more came out of me except sobs, punching the floor hard enough that my knuckles cracked and the skin started to split.

_(yeah ignorance is bliss until the day the things you've ignored all come into focus)_

“Love?” Kenny’s voice echoed faintly off the tiles, and through the beginnings of a pounding headache, it occurred to me that he’d never called me that before. Eyes burning, I looked up, and realized he was holding my phone. _At least I don’t have to explain,_ I thought, and threw up again instead of laughing, then collapsed into the space between the toilet and the sink, feeling my ribcage squeeze tight and groan.

“I should go,” I tried to say, except bile had worn me down to nothing more than a croak. I tried again, with very little additional success. “I should go.” Where, or how, or anything else for that matter, was a blur.

Then I closed my eyes. A moment passed, and something cool touched my cheek. A hand. Something else rustled, and through a half-glance I realized he was holding his water bottle up to my lips. I shook my head. _Not gonna get my stomach acid on your stuff._

“Stop being so… _practical_ and drink something,” he muttered, without a hint of malice or impatience. “If you want to go, I won't stop you, but not until you're safe. Please.”

Forcing myself to stand, I braced my forearms on the bathroom counter and turned on the faucet, painfully conscious of his hands framing my hipbones as I tried to at least rinse my mouth and face. I looked in the mirror, realized my nose was bleeding, and snarled internally.

“Oh shit.” Both of us spoke at the same time, but my hand fell short of the towel rack. Not sure I had the strength to even pick anything up. He dampened the washcloth and pressed it to my face, and I covered his hand with mine as I curled my head towards his shoulder and started sobbing all over again. He just hummed and made soothing little noises and I found myself following the pattern of his breathing. A few minutes in, my legs started to shake from exhaustion and fear, and he tensed for a long moment in what I realized was a wordless cue, then scooped me up the couple inches it took to land my ass on the bathroom counter, thankfully faced away from the mirror. My head fell limply forward, and he met me halfway, painstakingly removing the washcloth and circling over any stubborn bits of leftover blood before dropping it in the sink and pressing his nose to mine with a delicacy that felt fairytale and unreal. _Careful, careful, always so careful, this one, even with an already-broken thing like you._

His hands softly gripped my wrists, and brought them up to his own face, both of us sticky with sweat and tears. I closed my eyes and felt him kiss both palms before placing them gently on either side of his neck and knocking our foreheads back together. The intimacy of the gesture choked me up all over again, but this time he reached, tapping his fingertips on the tattoos that blackened my scarred forearms.

“I know that’s not how we wanted this to go,” he murmured, and I nodded into him as fresh tears overflowed my eyes. “And maybe I should’ve been more careful.” A pause. “I _definitely_ should’ve been more careful.” That seemed to be the word of the hour. “Truth is, I didn’t give a shit who knew. Even before I met you, I wanted to tell everyone. You know that. But I didn’t think, not as much as I should have. I know you were worried, because you told me so. And I didn’t take the right steps. I’m sorry.”

I sniffed. “Not your fault. I should’ve said more. Couldn’t tell the truth from my own nerves. I think maybe I hoped it would be some sort of non-event, even though I knew that was a lie.”

“Neither of us knew.” He tilted his face up and kissed me right between the eyebrows, shifting one hand to cup the back of my neck. “But I should have guessed. Should’ve been more fucking careful. I hope you can forgive me, but I understand if you can’t.” His voice choked a little on the last few words, and he took a deep, shivery breath. “I’ll take full responsibility for this. It’s my life that lead to it.”

I felt myself staring hard and unfocused, and took a breath of my own, feeling the air circle through my lungs like ice. “I don’t really care whose fault it is. I just don’t know what to _do_ now. What if I… what if this fucks you up?”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, but quietly, and kissed my face again. “I don’t care. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Like, literally? Yeah. I’m not a private person, you know that. ‘S not gonna cost me my job or my friends or anything. It’s more seeing all this shit dredged up right when I’m on the cusp of finally getting somewhere in my life that feels like being hit by a train.” Any confidence I tried to put out there into the world, however, was flagrantly fake as fuck, and my head was pounding, thick and fuzzy with unidentifiable fear. _Why do I feel so fucking violated?_ “And what it might do to you.”

Kenny looked perplexed. “I'm worried about what it's doing to you! I'm the idiot who got you doxxed!”

“I'm the doxxed idiot who is fucking freaking out right now.” My voice came out way too calm. _That’s never good._

“Okay.” He rubbed his face with one hand, trailing the other along my jaw as I willed myself not to flinch. “One thing at a time, yeah? You first?” When I nodded, he raked a hand through his hair and glanced up to the ceiling in thought. “I’m gonna make some phone calls. Whatever’s not taken down needs to be. I don’t know where we go from there.”

“I should call my landlord,” I agreed. “They’ve probably got my address, if they’ve got my fucking phone number. And I’ll probably switch to a sideline for a while. Can you let the guys know?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that when I talk to them. Send me the number.”

“I should probably call the cops, just in case. And Rocky.”

“Romero?” Kenny quirked an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “He’s good at PR shit. Might think of something. First question: will you look at my phone for me? Just, like, fucking delete and block anything that shouldn’t be there? Afraid if I try, I’ll start puking again.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

I asked, “Should we get everyone together?”

“I can put a call out to everyone I know is in town tonight. Are you up for that?”

I blew out a breath. “I think so. Just… get them to meet us somewhere.”

“You wanna go out?” He seemed surprised, and wary, and I didn’t blame him. “We could get everybody to just come here.”

I didn’t want to. As weird as it sounded, I needed to shower off the fear, put on some big-boy clothes, brush my fucking teeth, and leave my safety cave. “Hiding in the bathroom only works for so long.”

* * *

 

 _when it all fell down_  
_i should've been prepared_  
_they spent the last five years yelling_  
_come on, come on, come on, get outta here_

 _i wish it didn't hurt_  
_i wish i didn't care_  
_they've spent the last five years yelling_  
_come on, come on, come on, get outta here_

 

"Who here even knows fuck-all about crisis management in the first place?” Matt laid his palms out flat on the sticky wood surface and looked pointedly at each of us, crammed around a table looking up-to- _absolutely_ -nothing-legal, like a remake of _Goodfellas_ set at the local gay watering hole. The bartenders had given the gang of longhairs a few funny looks, especially since most of us didn’t even drink, but I bucked up, tipped well, and asked them a few quiet words, and things had stayed relatively calm ever since. Not everyone here got on all the time, but they’d shown up, and that was a lot more than I ever anticipated.

Trent sighed and gave me a long-suffering glance that almost put me in stitches before stealing a fork full of cheese fries directly out of my hand. When I looked over at Rocky, he was literally bouncing up and down, and he groaned, “Jesus, Roc. Let it out before you catch fire.”

“We need a fucking game plan,” Rocky said seriously, almost delighted by the prospect of a mission and completely unable to temper his enthusiasm as he gestured to Kenny. “Look. _You're_ out, no matter what the white dudes say. Will's out. People think you're together, which you are. That's point one: you can’t _go_ all ‘no comment’ on this. If you do, people will just look to any source that’s saying anything, no matter how bullshit. You have to make some kind of statement, even if it’s vague as hell.”

“Okay, what does _that_ look like?” Page drawled. Aside from the Bucks, he was the only Club guy in town this early, and I liked him a lot — the other guys always had great stories about him, and he’d spent way too much time at the beginning of the night bullshitting with me over growing up in Cow County; when things got a little too intense, he graced me by shoving his cowboy hat down over my eyes until I laughed. I was still wearing it, in fact.

“Let me guess,” Trent interrupted, running a hand through his hair and sounding mildly bored by the whole thing. “You either say, straight-up, ‘this is my dude, you heard the rumors, fuck off,’ or you say something all flowery and shit about how love is love and you’re so hashtag-blessed and maybe somebody else posts a picture of you making out at a hockey game and then you sit back with a beer and watch everyone flip.”

“My boy knows what’s up!” Rocky thumped Trent’s shoulder so hard I’m pretty sure the whole bar could hear it and winced in sympathy. “You don’t have to decide what you’re gonna do right now, but you’d better get on it pretty soon. Like, before we leave here tonight, we need to have a damn plan. So that’s point one. Point two is that we may not ever know who started this, but maybe that's less important than _why_ , and what that means. People think outing Will is gonna hurt him, the fuck else would they do it? And it does, because these assholes have his phone number. But from what he and I have discussed, he's otherwise pretty safe.” Rocky nodded towards me, and I shrugged in agreement. We’d talked about it at some length after I got licensed — the possibility of backlash, from fans or the public at large. Just not exactly like it turned out.

“Privileged enough for that. I'm out at work and to UFC, obviously, I'm not super worried about my day job or housing or family. It's mostly that I didn't consent to this and it's fucking disturbing.” I rubbed my hands on my jeans. “Phone number and _fucking_ address, are you fucking kidding me? Dredging up all that old shit. The cops said they’d take notes but they won’t do shit unless somebody actually comes after me. I might couch-surf for a week or two just until things cool down. Thank fuck my landlord put cameras in two months ago because if I find a dead rabbit in my mailbox or something I’m gonna go apeshit.” I’d already called Polly back and she’d readily volunteered their guest room and also to set some people on fire if the opportunity arose, because that’s what friends are for.

Rocky nodded seriously. “People are expecting negativity, and we can’t let them have it. They dish out their own, we blow it off. They expect it from us, not just the people in this room or strangers but everybody we work with, and we can’t fucking let them have it, right? If any of you hear _anything,_ any dirt at all from workers, you shut them the fuck up or you hang them out to dry. They don’t have any backup. Can we agree on that?”

“Hear, hear,” Adam murmured, and the other voices at the table added their agreement.

I realized I was choking up again, and reached for my drink to cover. Kenny squeezed my knee under the table and I scrambled to cover his hand with my own. “You okay?”

I’m certain my face was unconvincing, but I tried. “Just… it’s a lot. And people don’t usually stick up for me like this. Gotta do it all myself.”

“Not anymore, punkass,” Trent said, raising his beer, and I gave him a nod.

Everyone split off after that, sipping drinks and conversing quietly, and I nudged my head against my boy’s shoulder. “We didn’t talk about you, Ken.”

“What’s to talk about?” It was a genuine question, asked with a tilt of the head and nervousness in his eyes.

“I know this business is political as fuck. I know people are gonna give you shit for being with me. Not to sound like a total bureaucrat, but if that’s going to, ya know, impede your current trajectory…” I gestured vaguely into the air.

“I don't fucking care, Will.” The five finest words in the English language. “Anyone who would pass on me because of who I'm in love with is a complete fucking shithead and I don't want their time or attention in the first place.”

“I… wait, _what?_ ”

He blushed and looked away, suddenly shy, and it felt like my whole chest cavity was ringing with harmonics. “I love you, Will. That's all there is to it.”

“Since when?” I sputtered, for lack of anything better, lightheaded all over again.

He paused for a moment, forehead wrinkling as he thought. “I don't know. Maybe forever. Definitely when I asked you to meet me at the show and was being weird and nervous so you said if anyone made me uncomfortable you'd armbar them.”

I smiled, bit my lower lip, and tapped it with my thumb. He followed the cue and leaned down for a kiss, slow and close, and I murmured, “I love you too, Ken.”

“I know.” He grinned smugly, then yelped as I smacked him on the arm, tugging the hat back down over my eyes in revenge.

The warm silence was split abruptly by Matt’s earsplitting holler. “I got it! I got it, you little fuckers!”

We both looked up in shock to realize he’d been filming us for god only knows how long, crammed on a bench between Adam and his brother.

“You ass, you can’t do that shit without asking!” Page gave him a solid push, and the older Buck stuck his tongue out in response. “Oh yeah, _real_ mature. Class fuckin’ act.”

“Matt, seriously, don’t, I’m already freaked enough as is.” I dropped my head onto my arms on the table and glanced up just in time to see the horror on his face.

He let out a long string of expletives. “I didn’t even think of it that way, holy fuck. Sorry.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Nick muttered, and shoved him too. He and Page started rattling him back and forth like a pinball until he called for surrender and handed over his phone to let us see. The audio was drowned out by music and chatter, but the looks on our faces were embarrassingly clear.

“Okay, fine, this is cute as fuck,” I muttered. “You ever do it again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you, though.”

“Deal.” We shook hands, and I took Adam's hat off my head and frisbeed it back to him. He caught it one-handed with a sly smile.

Kenny took the phone and looked awful deep in thought for a moment. Then he smiled at me and announced that he had a proposal.

Rocky’s grin split ear to ear. “Shit, bro! I know you like each other, but that was fast!”

“Oh my _god_ , shut the fuck up.” I was actually radiating enough heat from my face to boil water.

Kenny leaned over, pecked my cheek, and looked right at me when he pulled back to speak. “Is there anyone else in this thing?”

“Yeah, I was just basically skimming the room, I think all of us are at some point.” Matt made grabby hands, and when he got the phone back, rewound the video and showed us the semi-blurry panoramic shot of our table.

“I think,” Kenny said, and then took a breath, “if Will says it’s okay, we post it. You post it. What do you think?”

His eyes hadn’t left mine the whole time, but I glanced down at our interlaced fingers and sat with it for a moment before I responded, feeling strangely calm. “Yeah. Go for it.”

“Really?” Matt sputtered, and I nodded.

“Rocky’s right. We can’t do nothing, and this way it doesn’t seem like a direct response. You put up shit like this all the time like it’s no big deal, and that’s what I was prayin' for anyway: no big deal.”

He tapped the screen a few times, and added a caption, reading it out loud as he typed. “Quality time with the boys before the big one,” and a bunch of hashtags I promptly forgot. Then he looked up at me, I held my breath and shook my head yes, and he hit send. “Done. Give it a couple minutes to load and we’ll see how much hell breaks loose,” he grinned.

“And on _that_ note, I think it’s time my _boyfriend_ and I got the hell out of here,” Kenny announced, stretching out his shoulders before bumping his nose against my cheek. “It’s been a long day, and it’s only gonna get longer.”

“I was about to get shots!” Rocky pouted, and I laughed.

“No one’s stopping you, the sober dorks are leaving. Party on, Roc.”

“Party on, nerds,” Trent called back, and we collected hugs, weaving through the crush of people to the front door.

As soon as it closed behind us, I shivered in the cool evening breeze, suddenly aware of the sheen of nervous sweat that had crept up my back. Kenny wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I tucked a hand into the far back pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t a long walk to the hotel, but it felt like there was something in the air that compelled me to kiss him at every crosswalk. So I did.

We headed up the stairs to our room in relative quiet, and a few times he picked up my hand, ducking to press kisses to my knuckles and wrist. I just smiled and pecked the top of his head in return. Once inside, we busied ourselves getting ready for bed; it was later than I thought, and it wasn’t until I’d stripped down to my usual boxers and undershirt that it hit me like a ton of bricks. _Holy shit._

“You…” I trailed off, and Kenny looked up from plugging in his phone. “You _love_ me?”

That smirk again, the one I wanted to kiss, or maybe slap, right off him. “I do.” He climbed up on his side of the bed and crawled over on all fours, bumping his face against my stomach.

I brought my hands down and raked them through his hair, earning what sounded an awful lot like a purr. God, I never wanted to break this moment, but— “Are you _sure_?”

He looked up with an arched eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Fuckin’ hell. Bear with me.”

Kenny rolled over on his back, a little wide-eyed and a little bit dropped. “Why? What’d I do?”

“What did you do? Oh for fuck’s sake— _you_ didn’t do anything, doll. I’m just… _are_ you sure?”

_Fuck, don’t look at me like that._

He kept looking at me like that.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” Each and every word was dropped slowly and seemed to clatter to the ground as he sat up and kissed my shoulder.

I shrugged, shifting my weight nervously from foot to foot. “I just… I’ll be fine, I promise. You didn’t need to. You know how I feel, you know I’m fucking crazy about you, and I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know, but you didn’t need to.” In return, he gave me a look that was so goddamn skeptical it forced a laugh out of my aching stomach. “What?”

“You honestly think I said that to shut you up, or make you feel better? Have you no faith?”

My eyes went as big as they possibly could. “Um. No?” _Oh god, please keep your shit together._

He shook his head and his mouth quirked as he looked away again. “I mean, I get it. My timing is fucking awful. This is, um. Not what I intended.”

 _Jesus._ “Ken. What did you intend, then?” He didn’t answer, and after a few seconds, I caught his chin in my fingers and tilted it up until I caught his eyes again. He didn’t look away this time. “Tell me. Please.” Inordinately proud of myself for keeping the shake out of my voice, all that quickly drained out when I realized my hands were still giving me away.

He was holding his breath.

_He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it, everybody knows he didn’t mean it, so get ready for the inevitable—_

“I love you so fucking much,” he blurted out in a ragged exhale, and then covered his mouth with both hands like a scared little kid. “It was just supposed to be better than that.”

_Holy fucking shit._

I swallowed my heart back and kept my voice low, calm, and even, pulling him in against me even tighter. “You okay, darlin? Because I'm okay. You know that, or you know that now.” _God, I would give just about anything for this and here it is._

His face had dropped a mile in those seconds and he shook his head. “I was going… I didn't want it to be like that, you know? I was going to wait until I won. Because I’m _going_ to fucking win.” His jaw tensed. “I wanted it to be special.”

I smiled a little, ducking to drop a soft kiss on his ear. “Is all this not special? I seem to recollect a certain very handsome man saying that what mattered was telling the truth. Although I feel like in the future we probably shouldn't have these kinds of major discussions in crisis mode, sure. But it is what it is.”

Big arms around my waist reeled me in until I toppled forward onto the bed, taking him down with me in the process. I propped up my own weight and looked down at him, all spread out across the sheets, and when he tilted his face up, I kissed him. And then I did it again, just for good measure, and maybe a couple more times.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be rough,” he said, nosing up against my face. “As fun as it was, I think we gave ourselves about a thousand more questions to answer.”

“Us?” I teased. “I thought my job was to look cute and be quiet.”

“Pfft. I think you may have gotten us mixed up, Captain Overshare.”

“Fair enough.” I paused in thought for a moment. “Wait a second, I’ve been downright well-behaved about all this! All sentimental and keeping-the-peace and shit. I haven’t even punched _anyone_.”

“That may be just because you don’t know who to punch yet.” God dammit, he knew me too well. “Speaking of well-behaved…” He trailed off, and I rolled onto the bed, bundling him up in my arms. “Could we… could we do some of that stuff we talked about?”

It had come up a number of times since that first one, and I couldn't help but smile. “Of course. Not tonight, though; executive decision, I’m still a fucking wreck and you need the rest. But get enough sleep, make it through tomorrow, all that dress-up photo-op bullshit, and you get whatever you want, doll.”

“Done.” In response, he wriggled his way up the bed to the proper spot, pulling me with him in the process. Instead of resting his head on my chest like he usually did— _and how fucking weird is that? We have a usual. We have a usual!_ —he nudged his face into mine and wrapped me up tight until I could barely move even if I wanted to. It felt like the quiet of the night rolled over us, and exhaustion was close to follow as I blew some stray curls out of my face and drifted off, sunk into the lightness of a thousand points of contact.

 

 

 _it’s not like the love that they showed us on tv_  
_it’s a home that can burn_  
_it’s a limb to freeze_  
_it’s worry.  
_ _love is worry._


End file.
